


The Cold Truth

by SilverDust09



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bran is no cripple, Catelyn isn't fooled, F/M, Jon goes south, Jon has silver hair, Lyanna Lives, No harem or overlapping relationships, R Plus L Equals J, fAegon is a Blackfyre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDust09/pseuds/SilverDust09
Summary: What if Jon was born with silver hair?





	1. Catelyn

**Catelyn**

Catelyn hardly recognized the man she had wed in the Sept in Riverrun. The war had turned Eddard Stark into a man. He had grown a beard and his face looked aged by several years.

“My Lady,” he greeted her in a polite, almost anxious manner. “It pleases me to see you again.”

Catelyn felt disappointed, but then she hardly knew Eddard Stark. Even Brandon she had hardly known, though she had believed herself in love with him.

 _Lost and gone_ , she reminded herself and shifted her attention to the young woman seated atop a brown palfrey horse. Looking at her Catelyn didn’t know what to say.

Lady Lyanna Stark looked as if she had stepped out of the seven hells. Her long face was pale like ash and her brown hair was a tangle of wild curls and knots.

Yet her eyes were the saddest thing she ever saw. They were empty and cold, like a winter’s lake.

 _Only the gods know what Rhaegar Targaryen did to her,_ she thought and clutched her chest. She had wanted to take Robb with her, but the Maester had protested.

_The boy was born in the south. He will need time to get used to the cold weather, my Lady._

Exhaling deeply, she watched as the young woman unhorsed. There was something sluggish and lethargic about the way she moved, but a glimmer of light had returned to her grey eyes when they fell upon the cart that had been drawn behind the column of riders.

Inside she spotted a dark-skinned woman, wrapped up in thick pelts and her face concealed by the hood of her cloak. Yet it was not this woman, Lyanna Stark was looking at, but the squirming bundle in the woman’s arms.

“Let me help you, Wylla,” Lyanna Stark offered quietly and spread her hands wide. The dark-skinned woman named Wylla didn’t hesitate to hand her the babe and climbed from the cart.

Lord Eddard had observed this in grim silence and shifted his attention to her.

“This is Wylla. Jon’s nursemaid,” he explained and pointed at the squirming babe in Lady Lyanna’s arms. “He is my bastard…fathered on Lady Ashara Dayne.”

Catelyn could only stare in frozen silence at the round face, framed by pale silver hair. Only the eyes revealed something of his Stark blood. They were grey, though much darker than her husband’s.

“Lady Ashara is dead,” Lady Lyanna added firmly. “The babe is of Stark blood. Winterfell is his home.”

Catelyn was still star-struck by this revelation. She didn’t want to insult this girl that had suffered so much and was also her good-sister.

Thus, she searched Lord Eddard Stark’s face.

“Lyanna speaks true,” he confirmed in a pained voice. “The boy shall remain here.”

Catelyn was still at a loss of words. She needed to leave, to regain her composure, but she was not afforded such luxury.

“Why here?” she asked her husband. “This is most unfitting. Why can’t Lady Ashara’s family care for the babe?”

“He belongs here,” Lyanna Stark replied for Lord Eddard, her voice laced with anger as she clutched the babe close to her chest. It was such a motherly gesture that Catelyn couldn’t help but to take a second glance at the babe and her good-sister.

 _Silver hair_ , she realized then and a terrible thought filled her mind. _Rhaegar Targaryen took her. Could it be…_

As Catelyn was contemplating this thought her eyes darted back to the babe and Lady Lyanna, who was trembling like a young tree bared to the sharp wind. _Gods, be good_. _He raped a child into her and Ned brought it home._

Catelyn could scarcely breathe as she met her husband’s gaze.

 _I need to calm myself_ , she knew and exhaled deeply, before speaking again.

“I see,” she said in a trembling voice. “Well, then get the babe inside, my Lady. He must be freezing.”

Relief was visible on Lady Lyanna’s face as she handed the babe back into Wylla’s arms. She was trying to hide her true feelings, so much Catelyn could see, but whenever she was unaware Lady Lyanna’s eyes darted back to the babe.

 _Gods, the girl must be half mad,_ she thought later as she paced around Robb’s crib. _How can she love this babe? After what the Prince did to her…_

_I need to speak to Ned about this._

“My Lady,” he greeted her politely as she entered her husband’s solar. He stood grouched over the hearth, stirring a fire to life. “I assume you wish to speak about the babe, my Lady?”

Then he sighed deeply and angled his head to look at her.

“I rather see Robb, my Lady.”

“He is sleeping,” she countered, trying her best to suppress her emotions. “We need to speak about this babe…this boy…He is not Lady Ashara’s babe, isn’t he?”

Catelyn didn’t know how it had happened, but within the blink of a moment her husband’s demeanor had changed to an icy, almost hostile expression.

“I wouldn’t lie about such a matter, my Lady,” he insisted firmly and searched her gaze. “The boy is my blood.”

Catelyn trembled as she met his gaze.

“Your blood, but Rhaegar Targaryen’s seed,” she threw back at him, her heart pounding wildly. “I saw how your sister is looking at the babe. Gods, Ned. Why did you even allow her to have it? It is quite clear that she has lost her wits. This is utter madness and high treason.”

A moment of tense silence stretched between them as she waited for his answer. She wanted him to tell her that all of it was a lie, that there was no reason to be afraid.

Yet his stone-faced expression told her everything she needed to know.

“Tell me!” she demanded again. “I deserve so much!”

He exhaled deeply, brushed his hands over his face and met her gaze, although hesitant.

“The babe is Rhaegar Targaryen’ son and I am well-aware of my actions, my Lady,” he told her, his grey eyes piercing into hers. “But Robert is no longer the man I knew. He laughed when he saw the butchered corpses of Prince Aegon and Princess Rheanys. He put Prince Viserys to the sword, a mere boy. Only the babe birthed by Queen Rhaella remains. The only reason Robert didn’t smother her as well is my sister. She pleaded with him to spare the babe and he agreed, probably hoping that she will wed him.”

“He wants to wed her?” she asked in utter disbelief. ”A spoiled girl like her?”

“She refused him,” her husband countered in a distraught voice. “But knowing Robert he won’t be satisfied with the answer no.”

“She refused the King…,” Catelyn stuttered and stumbled backwards. “Is she mad?”

“Mayhaps,” her husband replied hesitatingly. “But it matters not. The babe will remain and so will my sister. This is my last word, my Lady.”

_Madness. Utter madness._

And yet there was nothing she could do.

She would have to tolerate this _abomination of rape_ in her new home.

**…**


	2. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

Jon’s eyes followed the flickering torchlight. For him the statues of his grandfather and uncle must look like giants of stone, but for Lyanna they looked like the pale imitations of people she had once loved.

Her brother had gone through life with a constant smile on his lips, but this statue showed a grave and serious man, a stranger.

Her father’s statue was more fitting.

He looked like he had in life. Cold, unforgiving and without care for the feelings of others. His word had been law and whoever dared to go against it was a traitor to the Stark name.

Lyanna had loved and hated him in equal measure.

Now he was dead and gone like Brandon. She had wept for both, though more so for Brandon, who had falsely believed her raped and abducted.

That it was all a terrible misunderstanding didn’t ease the guilt clenching around her heart.

 _Why did Rhaegar not tell me_ , she thought and recalled the assuring words Rhaegar had given her before his departure. Not a word about her father and brother had left his lips then, though he probably intended to tell her once the fighting was done.

Rhaegar had never doubted his future victory and neither had Lyanna. She had loved him with all her heart, because he had given her what she had always craved for, what her father had always denied her. He had loved her for herself and had offered her a way out of the desperate situation her father had forced upon her.

He had loved the true Lyanna Stark, the girl who had dared to don a man’s armor and had defended Howland Reed’s honor. Rhaegar hadn't called her foolish when she told him that she wanted to be a knight. Instead Rhaegar had put a sword in her hand and had promised to train her, a promise he had kept until she grew heavy with his child and had been forced to leave her.

Now Rhaegar was dead as well, slain by the man she had wanted to escape from.

Truly, the gods put Robert Baratheon unto this world to torment her existence.

“Come back here, sweetling,” Lyanna called after her boy, who was again trying to stumble away into the darkness. Jon was a quiet child, but ever curious and unable to sit still. Her nephew Robb was similar, but more cautious in the way he approached the world around him.

“No,” Jon stuttered after she had lifted him back into her arms. “Down…down!”

She laughed as he struggled in her arms, but she didn’t allow him to get away. Instead she clutched him to her chest and placed a kiss on his cold check.

“It is time to get back,” she whispered and her boy finally stopped to struggle, his head buried in her neck and his soft silver hair tickling her cheek.

Then she picked up the lantern and left the darkness of the crypts behind her.

A warm fire greeted her when she stepped into the Great Hall. Jon, she had long returned into the hands of his nursemaid Wylla, who had promised to give him a proper bath. Lyanna would prefer to do it herself, but to the people of Winterfell she wasn’t Jon’s mother, but only his aunt. More than once Ned had chided her for her obvious behaviour, but Lyanna couldn’t help it. Jon was her son, no matter what the rest of the world thought and she was determined to be the best mother she could be.

As so often she found Ned seated next to one of the inhabitants of the castle. Today it was Harwin, the stable master, who was currently enjoying his cup of summer wine.

Only when he spotted her did he move aside and allowed her to sit down next to Ned.

“Is Lady Catelyn absent again?” she asked after she had received a bowl of warm broth.

“You know very well why she is absent,” Ned replied with a sigh and met her gaze. Lyanna knew why, but she had yet to speak with her good-sister about the matter.

It wasn’t like Lyanna was afraid of her good-sister, but she simply didn’t know how to speak to her. Lady Catelyn was as different from her as the sun was from the moon. They had little in common, apart from the fact that she was Ned’s wife.

Ned seemed equally lost.

“Have you tried to speak to her?”

Ned shook his head and took a sip from his cup.

“I do not know how,” he admitted then. “And it feels wrong to call her my wife. She was meant for Brandon, not me.”

Lyanna sighed deeply when she heard this.

“Brandon is gone.”

“He is,” Ned confirmed and brushed his hair out of his face. “But I fear his ghost will always haunt us.”

Then he exhaled deeply and searched her face.

“Lyanna,” he said in a heavy voice. “There is more…Robert announced his visit.”

Lyanna nearly dropped her cup, but Ned caught it in time. The very mention of Robert made her stomach twist.

“Can’t you tell him to stay away?” she asked, though she knew what a foolish question that was. Robert was the King, no matter how much the thought disgusted her and Ned had sworn to serve him.

Ned seemed to sense her discomfort and leaned over to squeeze her hand.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Lyanna swallowed hard.

“You want me to agree to the match, don’t you?” she asked and pulled her hand away.

Ned sighed deeply and nodded his head in confirmation.

“I would make things easier for all of _us_.”

Lyanna jumped to her feet and nearly stumbled over the chair.

“That will never happen, Ned.”

Then she fled back to her chambers, but even there she found no peace. She tossed and turned, her mind heavy with misery.

Being Robert’s Queen she could endure, but to bear his children was out of the question. Lyanna would smother them before they could even take shape in her womb. So much she knew.

And mayhaps that is what she should do. Mayhaps that would be a way to revenge Rhaegar’s death.

Robert had barely won his crown and a King without heirs of his own was a weak King, though even that wouldn’t be enough to remove the Baratheon’s from power.

Robert had two healthy brothers and even Lyanna couldn’t fault Renly and Stannis for what had happened. It was not their warhammer that had killed Rhaegar.

And as much as she hated Robert, it wasn’t his warhammer that had slain Princess Elia and her children. No, that had been Tywin Lannister’s work.

Truly, Tywin's head she desired the most if only to quell the guilt in her heart.

 _Foolish girl_ , she chided herself and pulled her legs to her chest. Then she leaned on her folded arms and listened to the howling wind. _There is nothing you can do now. You had your chance when you sent the Kingsguard away._

Lyanna regretted her actions now, but back then she had been wroth with anger and grief. All she could hope was that Arthur Dayne and the others had found refuge in Essos.

 _They will return_ , she knew deep inside her heart, though the very thought scared her more than she wanted to admit. _And that is why I can't wed Robert._

…


	3. Ned

**Ned**

Lyanna’s face reminded him of a warrior about to face battle. Her facial expression was blank, her lips a thin line and her grey eyes as cold as ice.

Ned shared her discomfort about Robert’s visit, but there was nothing he could do. Refusing the King was out of the question, no matter how much their last interaction had pained him.

 _Dragonspawn_ , he had called Prince Rhaegar’s children and barely a few moons later he had put Prince Viserys to the sword. Only the small babe birthed by Queen Rhaella remained and Robert would have killed her as well hadn’t Jon Arryn and Lyanna reasoned with him.

Looking at Robert now, Ned couldn’t help but to notice the difference to the man he had known. Barely a year had gone since the end of the rebellion, but Robert no longer looked like the victorious warrior that had slain Rhaegar Targaryen. He was still strongly-built and could easily best Ned in battle, but he lacked the enthusiasm that had driven him during the war.

 _Robert is a warrior not a King_ , Lyanna had remarked after Ned had told her everything that had occurred during her time in the tower. She had sounded so angry and resentful that Ned had feared to present her to Robert, though his fears had turned out to be completely unfounded.

Robert only saw what he wanted to see. He didn’t recognize that Lyanna’s grief and resentment were meant for him. All he saw was the victim of the vicious Dragon Prince and the woman he had heroically saved.

“You look better, Ned,” Robert remarked in a pained voice after he had climbed from his horse. He had travelled here with a small retinue, no more than a few hundred men, but what surprised Ned the most was Jon Arryn’s presence. “Being Lord of Winterfell suits you.”

Ned swallowed hard and lowered his head.

“If you say so it must be true, your Grace.”

Robert grimaced when he heard this formality, but a hint of a smile returned to his lips the moment he noticed Lyanna.

At first, she had refused see Robert, but after a bit of prodding she had finally seen reason and had even donned a proper dress.

“Lyanna,” Robert said in a longing tone and searched her face. Yet he found neither sympathy nor a smile. Lyanna’s expression could only be described as cold. “You look…beautiful as ever.”

Lyanna lowered her head, her mouth a thin line as she offered her hand.

Robert looked as if Lyanna had showered him with gold. He didn’t hesitate to place a kiss on her hand and would have probably never let go of her hand had Jon Arryn not interrupted them.

“Your Grace,” he said and cleared his throat. “The cold might be tolerable to young people like you, but I am an old man and I would prefer the warmth of a fire.”

“I agree,” Lyanna replied politely and pulled her hand away. Then she shifted her attention to Catelyn, who had not spoken a single word since Robert’s arrival. “And we have a meal prepared for you and your men, your Grace.”

“I agree,” Catelyn added politely and forced a smile over her lips. “We from the south are not used to the hardships of winter.

Seeing her like this he felt the sharp sting of guilt, but that was the price he had to pay. He still recalled her reaction vividly and it only reinforced his belief.

Telling her the full truth would be too dangerous.

“Indeed,” Jon Arryn chuckled. “The North is not for the weak of heart.”

The meal that followed was small and quiet. The Robert he had known would have made a jape or tried to lighten up the mood, but they exchanged no more than a few words.

Robert’s attention was focused on Lyanna, who tried her best to be courteous, but Ned couldn’t help but to notice her tense bearing. Occasionally, Catelyn added her voice, but it was quite clear that Robert only came here for Lyanna.

“I tried my best to keep him away,” Jon Arryn remarked to him as his blue eyes darted to Lyanna and Robert. “But you know how stubborn he can be. He is determined to wed her.”

Ned exhaled deeply and leaned closer.

“It is a folly,” Ned replied in a low voice. “Lyanna will never agree to marry him. She told me so herself.”

If Jon Arryn was surprised it didn’t show on his face.

“To be honest…I am not in favor of this match either,” Jon replied. “And it relieves me to hear that Lady Lyanna sees it the same way. Mayhaps she could help me to convince Robert to agree to the match with Cersei Lannister…”

Ned was completely taken back by his words.

“Cersei Lannister?” Ned asked in hushed whisper. “You want to reward Tywin Lannister for his vile actions by giving his daughter a crown?”

“Without Tywin Lannister, Robert would have no crown,” Jon Arryn countered. “Prince Aegon and Prince Viserys had to die, though I would have preferred a kinder death for them. The death of Princess Elia and her daughter shouldn’t have happened, but Robert needs Tywin. The realm is still unstable and Tywin Lannister would be a powerful ally.”

Ned understood the political reasons, but to hear such words from Jon Arryn shocked him.

It seemed being named Hand of the King had changed him too. It seemed justice didn’t mean to him as much as it used to.

And while Ned disagreed with Jon, he felt too weary to fight over Tywin Lannister. A vile man like him was not worth Ned’s time and patience.

Once supper was over, Ned led Robert and Lyanna to his solar, where they could talk in private and far away from prying looks.

“I already told you…I cannot marry you, Robert,” Lyanna repeated her answer for the third time this evening.

She was seated on a chair, her arms folded in her lap. Robert towered over her, his face a grimace of pain.

“But why?” he asked, his voice laced with desperation. “I don’t understand it. I don’t give a flying fuck that you are no maid.”

Lyanna’s face remained unreadable as she met Robert’s gaze.

“I know that,” she replied plainly and shrugged her shoulders. “But Winterfell is where I belong. I am sure in time you will find yourself a better wife, someone who will love you.”

Robert shook his head and dropped to his knees as he touched Lyanna’s folded hands.

“But I only love you…all I did was for you,” Robert beseeched her. “Do you think I did it for the bloody crown? I don’t give a flying fuck about the Iron Throne. I only want you.”

Lyanna gritted her teeth as she looked at Robert. The Lyanna he knew was blunt and always straight to the point. This one looked like she didn’t know what to say.

She trembled as her gaze darted to Ned and then to Jon Arryn, who had taken a seat next to the hearth.

Then she exhaled deeply and shifted her attention back to Robert.

“I can never be your Queen,” she insisted firmly, her voice strained and distant. “Because I would be disgusted to wear a crown tainted by the blood of innocents. I never wanted you to depose the Targaryens for me and I certainly didn’t want you to put Viserys Targaryen to the sword. I wanted nothing of this to happen. It is all wrong.”

Ned could barely breathe, his gaze searching Robert’s face across the room. He expected anger, but he only saw confusion.

“Why do you care so much about the dragonspawn?” Robert asked, his hand still enclosing hers. “After all they did to you.”

“The children did nothing to me!” she snapped back and tried to pull her hand away, but Robert didn’t let go. “Why can’t you understand that? Your act of revenge caused me nothing but pain, Robert.”

Ned was about to interfere, but Jon Arryn’s touch on his shoulder held him back.

“Then tell me what I can do to change your mind?” Robert beseeched her again. “What can I do make it up to you?”

Lyanna grimaced and pondered Robert’s question.

“Give me Tywin Lannister’s head. Avenge the innocent blood that was spilled and I shall be your Queen,” she replied at last.

Jon Arryn gasped and Robert dropped his head in defeat.

This was not something he could give Lyanna and Ned was sure she knew this.

Robert’s frustrated reaction came promptly.

“Seven Hells, Lyanna!” he snapped angrily and rose to his feet. “Since when did you become this stubborn?”

“This is my condition,” Lyanna replied almost coldly and didn’t hesitate to look first at Robert and then at Jon Arryn. “Accept it or leave. While I care not for the crown nor for the south, let me give you this warning, Lord Arryn. Tywin Lannister didn’t hesitate to betray the Mad King and he won’t hesitate to betray your or Robert the moment you become too pesky for him. I am only a silly girl, but if there is something, I have learned from this war it is this: Never trust Tywin Lannister.”

Then she rose to her feet and stepped out of the room, leaving only silence behind her.

“Seven Hells!” Robert mumbled angrily and slashed his fist against the wall. “Rhaegar Targaryen not only took her virtue he also took her wits! Damn him to hell!”

Then Robert turned around and flashed Ned an accusing look.

“What is wrong with your sister?” he asked in a desperate tone. “Why is she behaving like this? This is not the girl I knew.”

 _You never knew her_ , Ned realized then and felt utterly helpless. _You only saw what you wanted to see._

“Robert,” Jon Arryn added hesitatingly and broke the silence that had settled over them. “I am only an old man, but I feel this is a lost cause. Lady Lyanna is clearly not interested. I see no reason to torment her with our presence here.”

“Spare me your wise words, Jon!” Robert grumbled angrily. “I know that you want me to bury my cock in Cersei Lannister’s golden cunt. Marry her yourself if you like her so much.”

“I am already wed,” Jon Arryn replied calmly as ever, but Robert didn’t seem to appreciate his attempt of a jest.

“I know that, Jon,” Robert snapped back and turned back to Ned, who had remained silent throughout their exchange.

“What about you, Ned?” Robert asked and laughed bitterly. “Do you also think I should marry Cersei Lannister?

A match with Cersei Lannister was the last thing Ned wanted for Robert, but then it might be the only way to keep him away from Lyanna.

“Aye,” Ned forced the words over his lips. “I think that would be for the best, Robert.”

…


	4. Catelyn

**Catelyn**

As so often, Lady Lyanna  was roaming through the crypts.

Why Lady Lyanna liked to come here was a mystery to her, but the fact that she took that boy with her was even stranger to her.

Most children would be afraid of the darkness, but the boy seemed unbothered by it.

That boy of hers was in general an odd child. He was eerily quiet for his age and he barely spoke in the presence of strangers other than his _supposed_ Aunt.

What surprised her was that nobody in the castle questioned this fact, given how much Lady Lyanna clung to the boy.

This was her greatest fear. That the boy would remain here forever and find out the truth.

Who knows what he will do once he comes of age? There was no guarantee that might not try reclaiming the crown…

And surely, there were those who would follow him.

Several of her father’s bannermen, most of them former Targaryen supporters, were still grumbling for revenge.

That Lady Lyanna refused him so coldly had only increased the tension between Ned and the King, though Jon Arryn was hopeful that the marriage to Cersei Lannister would dissolve the King’s infatuation with Lady Lyanna.

Catelyn was not so optimistic. Robert Baratheon seemed a stubborn man. She doubted his marriage to Cersei Lannister would put an end to his “infatuation” as Jon Arryn had called it.

Truly, a marriage between Lady Lyanna and the King would have removed a lot of suspicions, though that didn’t mean she didn’t understand Lady Lyanna’s feelings. She clearly loved that boy of hers, despite his questionable birth. It was understandable that she didn’t want to leave him behind.

And yet the day would come when the boy would have to leave.

What will happen to Lady Lyanna when the time goes? Will she remain or go with him?

Too many of such uncertain questions plagued her mind as she stepped through the darkness to search for her good-sister and boy.

As expected, she found them near Rickard Stark’s and Brandon’s tombs. The boy was also there, his dark eyes watching the flickering shadows.

He also babbled something to Lady Lyanna that Catelyn was unable to understand.

Yet he stopped abruptly when he noticed her presence. It felt as if the child was able to feel sense discomfort.

“Lady Catelyn,” Lyanna greeted her politely and picked the boy from the ground.” I think you startled Jon.”

The boy still looked at her through the darkness, his chubby hands curled in Lady Lyanna’s cloak.

“It seems so,” Catelyn replied hesitatingly. “I suppose I should have announced my presence. Robb isn’t very frightful.”

“No, he is not,” Lady Lyanna confirmed and picked up the lantern. “Shall we return or is there something you wish to speak about, my Lady? I have never seen you down here before.”

Catelyn exhaled deeply and nodded her head.

“Aye, there is something I want to speak about,” she admitted and met Lyanna’s gaze. “Do you think it was wise of you to refuse the King, my Lady?”

If Lyanna Stark was displeased with her question it didn’t show on her face.

“No,” Lyanna replied bluntly as ever. “But it was necessary. I cannot marry him.”

Catelyn nodded her head.

“It is because of the boy, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, but that was not my only reason,” Lyanna confirmed and waved her hand at the long dark corridor leading back to the surface. “Tell me, how often have you met Brandon, my Lady?”

She was confused by her question, but answered nonetheless.

“Two times.”

“And did you love him?” Lyanna asked straight to the point.

The question caught her completely off guard and it took her a while before she found a proper reply.

“Brandon was very charming,” Catelyn replied at last. “I liked him. I think we would have been happy.”

Lyanna frowned at that.

“Aye, Brandon was a charming fellow, but that doesn’t mean he would have been a good husband. I loved my brother dearly, but he was not known to keep to one bed.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Catelyn couldn’t help but to ask. “He is dead and gone.”

“There are two reasons,” Lady Lyanna explained and opened the door once they had reached the top of the stairs. “The first reason is meant to answer your question and the second reason concerns Ned.”

“I don’t understand…,” Catelyn began, but Lady Lyanna’s answer came promptly.

“What I am trying to say is that Robert doesn’t really know me. I am not like you, my Lady. I don’t care for dresses, stitching and being an obedient wife. I always dreamed of being a knight and carrying a blade. My father always disapproved of this and tried to turn me into a southron lady, but I could never live up to these expectations. The truth is, I never liked the match with Robert to begin with. It was my father who desired it not I.”

Surprisingly, Catelyn was not shocked by this revelation. Over the last year she had observed Lyanna Stark and had long realized that she was different from most southron ladies, but that she had disliked the match with Robert was something she hadn’t known.

“Ned thought I disliked Robert because he fathered a bastard girl,” Lyanna Stark added sadly and stroked her hand over her boy’s silver hair. “But that was not the reason I disliked the match. The truth is…Robert always reminded me of Brandon. One day he would swear me undying love and the next day he would be completely forgotten. I didn’t want such a life…I don’t think any women would want such a life.”

Then she lifted her wolf gaze and searched Catelyn’s face.

“Or am I wrong, my Lady?”

“Most are satisfied with what they get,” Catelyn countered.

“And are you happy with your lot, my Lady?” Lyanna Stark asked softly. “I don’t think so, which is why I brought up Brandon. Ned isn’t a man of many words and lacks Brandon’s charm, but I know this…Ned will not stray from your bed.”

“He lied to me,” Catelyn replied, all the suppressed emotions bubbling up again.

“Because he didn’t know you,” Lyanna countered. “And because I asked it of him. But do not fret, my Lady. I shall not remain in Winterfell forever. Benjen will hopefully earn his spurs in a few years from now and then he will be Lord of Moat Cailin. I am sure he will be pleased to have me there. As for Jon, I am sure one of Ned’s bannermen would be willing to take him on as a squire.”

Catelyn knew she should feel relieved, but the existence of the boy alone was a danger, though Lady Lyanna didn’t seem to see that.

And yet there was nothing they could do about it.

The boy existed and would be a burden for them until the end of their days.

“Ned,” Catelyn repeated and lifted her head to look at Lyanna, who was rocking the boy in her arms. “I do not know how to talk to him.”

“I think that that feeling is mutual, my Lady,” Lady Lyanna replied and gave her an assuring smile. “Ned never expected to be Lord of Winterfell and he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this position. I fear it depends on you to change his mind, my Lady.”

…


	5. Lyanna

**Lyanna**

The bright laughter of children echoed over the courtyard. Usually, she had to scour the entire castle to find her wayward son and nephew, but not today.

Today she found her wayward son and nephew running about in a heap of snow, snapping wooden sticks at each other.

Amidst their heap of snow, they had erected a tower-like building that was probably meant to resemble a castle, though most of it had already collapsed.

As she neared, their shouting and their gasps grew louder mixing with the sound of snapping wood. Due to his youth, Jon was slightly shorter than Robb, but that didn’t stop him from evading his blows with quick movements. Left and right, he ducked out of the way and bombarded him with a barrage of blows. Robb cried out in pain when the twig hit his face and retorted quickly, snapping his twig over Jon’s shoulder. Jon laughed and promptly aimed at Robb’s head. As before, he managed to hit him, but dropped the twig and grabbed Robb around the stomach to throw him to the ground.

Lyanna decided to interfere when she saw them rolling in the snow, but she soon realized that her fear was unfounded.

The boys were already brushing the snow from each other when she arrived. Jon’s cheeks were deeply flushed from the cold and Robb’s nose was bleeding, though that didn’t seem to bother him, which was no surprise to her. Robb was no weepy child.

“Aunt Lyanna!” Robb exclaimed cheerfully and brushed the blood from his nose.

“We built a castle!” Jon added enthusiastically and pointed at the collapsed snow tower. “And I was defending it!”

“I can saw it all,” Lyanna confirmed and sighed when she noticed the fresh blood dripping from Robb’s nose. “Now come here and let me take care of your wounds, brave Ser.

 _Boys are boys_ , she thought and pulled out a handkerchief from the vest of her cloak.  _They can never sit still._

Carefully, she dipped the handkerchief on Robb’s lips and nose to brush the blood away.

When she was done, she shifted her attention back to Jon, who had pulled off his cape and shawl to remove the snow from his clothing.

“Come here, let me take a look at you,” she prodded gently and Jon obeyed without question. He had never been a child of many words, his dark eyes more expressive than his face. Rhaegar had been similar. Sadness had been hanging over him like a sad cloud ever since he had been born among the smoking ruins of Summerhall. It seemed Jon had not only inherited his coloring but also his temperament.

“I am well,” Jon assured her in a quiet voice. “I am not bleeding. Robb didn’t manage to hit me in the face.”

Robb pouted.

“I managed to hit you on the shoulder. Besides, you have an advantage, brother. You are smaller than me.”

A ghost of a smile curled on Jon’s lips.

“You are just angry that I defeated you,” Jon teased.

“Well, I defeated you last time,” Robb countered and frowned. “But this time you were playing Aemon the Dragonknight. Aemon the Dragonknight cannot lose. Next time I will win.”

Jon straightened himself and gave Robb a challenging look.

“We will see about that.”

“Indeed,” Lyanna added calmingly and re-fastened Jon’s shawl around his neck. Then, she took the cape from his hands and placed it on his head. “But now we go back inside. You two are in dire need of a bath.”

Robb frowned again, but Jon seemed to like the prospect of a bath.

“Can we go to the godswood?”

Lyanna smiled and brushed her hand over Jon’s cheek. It was frozen, his warm breath rising like mist into the air.

“I had the same idea, sweetling,” she agreed and angled her head to look at Robb, who had stopped to frown after Jon had mentioned the godswood. “What do you say? Shall we venture into the godswood?”

Robb’s grin told her everything she needed to know.

“Aye, let’s go.”

Lyanna undressed herself slowly as she watched the boys splash around, their forms blurred from the thick mist rising from the pool of water.

Once she was finished, she descended the swirling stone steps leading into the pool of water. As always, the water was scalding and made her sigh. It also helped to ease the tension in her body. She had spent all morning stitching her old dresses, a task that had taken all her concentration. Granted she could have asked for help, but her good-sister had her hands full since the birth of little Arya. Sansa had been a quiet child, but Arya was a crier like Benjen. Lyanna still recalled with horror how Benjen had tormented his nursemaid.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that Arya had captured her heart the moment she laid eyes on her. Unlike Robb and Sansa, she was graced with brown hair and grey eyes like her.  _A real Stark_ , Maester Luwin had said after delivering the squalling babe.

It wasn’t like Lyanna loved Robb and Sansa anything less, but when she looked at Arya she saw Benjen, Brandon, her father and her mother. When she saw Robb and Sansa she saw the Tully blood  which reminded her of the part Hoster Tully had played in Rhaegar’s demise. The Lord of the Riverlands hadn’t hesitated to wed his second daughter to Jon Arryn to secure himself a good position in the war nor had he wasted a moment to wed her good-sister to Ned, though he had never spoken a single word to her brother before this arrangement. That he had persecuted Rhaegar’s allies for keeping their vows to their King made it only harder for her, though that was not the reason she mistrusted him. Lyanna had met him only twice, but he reminded her too much of her ambitious father.

“Surprise!” Jon suddenly exclaimed and splashed a handful of water into her face. “I got you!”

Lyanna laughed and grabbed Jon before he was able to escape, but Robb came to his help and splashed another round of water into her face.

Making use of the moment, Jon freed himself from her grip and dove back into the water. A moment later, he emerged the boys continued to attack her mercilessly.

“I yield!” Lyanna exclaimed and lifted her hands. “I yield!”

Finally, they stopped and Lyanna sighed in relief. As a young girl, she would have delighted in such games, but she was no longer a child, but a woman grown.

“You have vanquished me, my sweets,” she admitted and pulled them closer once they had stopped their attack. “But now we need to get back. It is getting late.”

“A bit longer,” Robb pouted, but Lyanna had promised to bring them back before dusk and the sky was already flecked in orange and red streaks.

“Not today,” Lyanna replied firmly and rose to her feet to climb up the stone steps, leading out of the pool of water. “Now come along.”

Robb sighed in disappointment, but Jon followed without complaint.

Lyanna dressed quickly to drive away the cold, before returning to the boys, who were already waiting for her.

The sun stood low above the Broken Tower when they returned to the castle. Ser Roderik, who was training the guards, dipped his head and referred her inside.

Not much to her surprise, she found her good-sister where she had left her in the morning. Before the warm heart and covered in pelts. Sansa was not far, seated on a pelted carpet, one of her many dolls clutched to her chest.

“Auntie,” she chirped like the little song bird she was and turned her head at their approach.

“Hello,” she greeted and waved with her hands, showing her small white teeth.

“Hello,” Lyanna greeted and picked her from the ground, before making her way towards her good-sister. At her side was Septa Mordane, an elderly woman, who had the tendency to hovered over her good-sister like a shadow.

Lyanna didn’t know what to make of the woman and the Septa seemed to think the same way about Lyanna, because they hadn’t spoken more than a few sentences since her arrival in Winterfell. The Faith of the Seven was foreign to Lyanna, though she had been educated in the basic beliefs of the fate by the previous Maester Walys. He had been the one had suggest the southron matches her father had been trying to force on his children and thus her father had insisted that she would learn how to be a proper southron lady. Truly, the only reason she tolerated the woman’s presence close to Jon was the fact that Rhaegar would have wanted to see his son to be educated like a Prince, which meant learning about the Faith of the Seven. It would also make it easier for Jon to earn his knighthood.

“You are late,” Lady Catelyn remarked and touched Robb’s wet hair. A hint of a smile curled on her lips as she looked at Lyanna. “I see, you have already taken a bath. A good idea, my lady.”

“It was Jon’s idea,” she corrected her and patted her boy’s shoulder.

Catelyn tensed, as if the very mention of Jon’s name made her freeze. Lyanna had long realized that she couldn’t expect more than discomfort from her good-sister when it came to her son, though Lyanna didn't particular care about that. Lyanna would give the love he needed.

“I see,” her good-sister replied and averted her gaze. “I see.”

Jon frowned, but Lyanna pulled on his hand to distract him.

“Jon and I will go and eat supper,” Lyanna explained and placed Sansa back on her two feet. The little girl giggled and quickly returned to her doll. “Do you mind if we take Robb with us? I suppose Sansa has already been fed?”

Catelyn sighed and the Septa wrinkled her nose, which betrayed her disapproval. During her first week here, the Septa had told Jon to eat in company of the servants, but Lyanna had made it clear to her that Jon was not to be treated differently than the other children.

Not that Lyanna cared about the Septa’s opinion, but she had quickly realized her folly. She had drawn attention on her.

Thus, it was now common that she and Jon would eat in company of the servants, though sometimes she asked Robb to join them.

“Please!” Robb begged.

Again, her good-sister sighed and shrugged with her shoulders.

“Very well,” she agreed at last, though the Septa wrinkled her nose. Lyanna felt a hint of triumph and promptly led the children to the kitchen.

By now the servants were used to her and Jon’s presence. There had been a few more additions to the old staff, but it hadn’t taken long for Lyanna to get acquainted with them.

“You are late, my Lady,” Martha the head of the kitchen greeted her. She was a chubby woman with plain brown hair that was always wound around her head and hidden behind a white scarf. Her dress was made of a similar color, though it was always stained with food. “But it should be warm enough.”

The food was indeed warm enough and consisted of lamb chops accompanied by roasted onions and peas. Lyanna, who had been famished, practically devoured the food, though now and then she had to remind Jon and Robb of their manners, though it was no use. It didn’t take long, before their mouths and fingers were covered in grease. The use of a fork was still an annoyance to the boys and often enough they resorted to using their fingers.

“Do we get a cake?” Robb asked, after he had cleaned most of his plate, though he had yet to eat his peas.

“First the peas, my young Lord,” Lyanna reminded him.

Robb frowned and stared at the peas with desperation. He looked as if Lyanna had asked of him to eat a full plate of hot peppers.

Exhaling deeply, he shoved the peas into his mouth. He did this in the most dramatic way possible. Even the process of swallowing the peas was drawn out and made Jon snicker with amusement.

Then, as if nothing had happened her nephew started to grin.

“Now the cake, Auntie.”

Lyanna laughed and as promised both Robb and Jon received a piece of cake.

Once they had finished their supper, Lyanna settled Jon for bed, though like so often Robb decided to join them to hear one of her stories. Sometimes, it was Old Nan, who offered herself up for this task, but tonight she was otherwise engaged.

As always, they demanded another story and weak-willed as she was Lyanna agreed, though she remained firm when  they demanded a third story.

“It is time for bed,” she reminded them and placed a kiss on Robb and Jon’s cheek, before closing the door behind them.

“Robb decided to sleep in Jon’s room,” Lyanna informed her good-sister, who was watching the nursemaid feed Arya. “I couldn’t bring myself to send him away.”

If her good-sister was displeased, it didn’t show on her face, though Lyanna noticed how tensely she grabbed the letter in her hand.

Fear washed over her, when she noticed the broken wolf sigil.

Moons ago, Ned had joined Robert to fight against Greyjoy’s and this was the first letter in a nearly moonturn.

“Is Ned hurt?” Lyanna asked, trying to hide her anxiety. “Or is it about Benjen?”

“They are coming home,” her good-sister replied at last and offered her the letter to read. “The war is over.”

Lyanna felt relief for Ned’s and Benjen’s sake, but she felt also a hint of disappointment. She knew that it was wrong to think like that, but more than once she had wished that the King wouldn’t return from this war. That he would find an early grave like Rhaegar. Robert’s reign was still young and though Cersei Lannister had born him a son, it would certainly weaken the Baratheon’s if a helpless babe were to assume the throne…

 _Not now_ , Lyanna reminded herself and banished these dark thoughts away.

It was nonsense to entertain such thoughts, especially now that Robert had survived.

Yet even her doubts couldn’t change the fact.

Jon was Rhaegar’s last living son and heir. Robert may have claimed he crown, but for Lyanna and those who had loved and followed Rhaegar willingly Robert was nothing more than a usurper.

...


	6. Benjen

**Benjen**

The sight of the grey towers and walls rising the in the distance made his heart soar with joy. It had been six long years that he had last laid eyes on his home. Six long years ago he had left for Riverrun to serve as Lord Tytos Blackwood' squire. Back then he had been a green boy with little knowledge of war, but now he had fought and had received his spurs after the storming of Seaguard. And while Benjen had not slain a notable Ironborn leader, he had aided with the defense of the castle, killing a good dozen of Ironborn himself, though most of them had not been as skilled as Roderik Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy's oldest said. Said man had found an early grave at the hand of Lord Jason Mallister as did his brother Maron Greyjoy who had perished in the siege of Pyke. All that was left of house Greyjoy was now Theon Greyjoy, who had been given to Theon as a hostage of war.

"You must be happy to return home, good Ser," an amused and familiar voice roused him out of his deep thoughts. Benjen lifted his head and smiled when he found Dacey Mormont riding beside him. She was tall, dark haired beauty, who preferred leather armor over a lady's garb and a sharp axe over a needle. She was the kind of woman his sister wanted to be, but never could, because she was born a Lord Paramount's daughter. When Benjen was a boy he had never wasted much of a thought on marriage. He had been born a third son, meant to join the Night's Watch, but all that had changed when his brother Brandon had perished at the hand of the Mad King. Ned had become the heir and had Ned not been able to father children Benjen would have been his designated heir. At least that was the reason he hadn't left for the Night's Watch and had taken the offer to squire for Lord Tytos Blackwood. And even so, Benjen hadn't thought of marriage until Dacey Mormont had appeared. Benjen had met plenty of southron women in his time in the south, but none had been to his taste. Yet when he had seen Dacey Mormont swing her axe he had felt as if hit by thunder and that feeling hadn't changed ever since, though he was not completely sure whether she reincorporated these feelings. They had spent weeks on campaign and often enough she had invited him to sit with her Uncle's men, but then she wasn't a common lady. She was a lady of Bear Island and Benjen would soon leave for Moat Cailin. Benjen was still unsure if she would be willing to leave her home behind her.

"Aye," he confirmed and jerked his head at the snow-swept landscape. "It is good to see proper snow. This I missed the most...the snow and the cold."

Dacey laughed, her voice hoarse from the cold and her pale cheeks deeply flushed. "Then you should come and visit Bear Island. A place to freeze one's arse off as my Uncle Jorah likes to say."

"Nothing would please me more," Benjen returned jestingly and swept his gaze over the familiar town spreading below the walls of Winterfell. Winter town consisted of nothing more than rows of small and neat houses built of log and undressed stone. The streets were muddy and frozen from past night's chill, but the wooden market square was filled to the brim and the smoke rising from the local inn, an alehouse called the Smoking Log, indicated that it was well-attended. "But Moat Cailin is waiting for me and it will take a long time before I can make such a travel. Mayhaps you could consider visiting Moat Cailin instead?"

If Dacey Mormont was surprised by his offer it didn't show on her face. Her smile was as bright as a star.

"If it pleases you, grood Ser," she replied teasingly.

Benjen couldn't help but to chuckle. Good Ser was the nickname she had given him, because she found it strange that he was a knight sworn to the Old Gods.

"It would please me very much," Benjen added and felt his cheeks burn when he noticed her bright smile. It was enough to wake his baser desires, though he forgot about that soon enough when they rode through the gates of Winterfell and his eyes fell upon his sister Lyanna.

"Ben!" her bright voice rose above the crowd and a moment later he found himself tackled to the ground, his pelted cloak stained with mud and snow.

Not that Ben cared about that when he held Lyanna in his arms, her head nuzzled in his chest like she had often done when they were children. Instead he held her tight and savored the feelings of their reunion.

"It is good to see you, sister," he said after he had entangled himself from her tight grip and took in her appearance. Six years had passed, but his sister had hardly changed. She was still the pretty girl with the grey wolf eyes that had been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhall. "May I get up? The ground is rather cold."

Lyanna chuckled lightly, tears glittering in her eyes as she pulled herself back to her feet and offered her hand. "I apologize. It seems I got carried away."

Ben laughed and pulled himself to his feet. "There is no need for apologies, sister," he assured her and swept his gaze over the rest of the attendance, some of them familiar faces and others fresh. There was Lady Catelyn, his brother's wife, though he couldn't claim to know her well. He had met her only once, before his departure for Raventree. The children, safe for the oldest Robb, were also strangers to him, though that didn't dim his happiness to see them one bit.

Ned had already greeted his lady when Benjen approached her and kissed her hand in the manner of a knight. Lady Catelyn hailed from the south and thus he thought she might appreciate the gesture.

"I am pleased to see you again, my Lady," he declared after he had straightened himself. "Ned is lucky to have such a pretty wife."

"I thank you," she replied, a hesitant smile curling on her lips as her blue eyes met his.  "You are certainly welcome her, Lord Benjen."

Benjen nodded his head and shifted his attention to the children. The oldest Robb had grown into a healthy young lad with red hair and blue eyes, his smile as bright as Lyanna's had been before. It seemed he recognized him somewhat, though Benjen believed it had more to do with the fact that he showed a strong resemblance to Ned.

"You look like, father," the boy remarked promptly and dipped his head. "Are you Uncle Benjen?"

Benjen couldn't help but to laugh and ruffled his hair as he knelt down. "Indeed, my boy. You are a smart lad."

Robb chuckled and brushed his hand away, urging the younger girl to draw closer. She also inherited the Tully coloring, though she was more hesitant to approach him.

"Stop being such a baby, Sansa," Robb prodded. "That's Uncle Benjen."

"It's true, my Lady," Benjen replied gently and offered his hand to her. "I am your Uncle. Do I get a kiss?"

Sansa stared at him for a moment, before giving a silent nod. Then she stumbled towards him and lifted herself on her toes to place a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Benjen chuckled and would have wished to keep her close, but she wiggled out of his hands and stumbled back to her mother, hiding behind her back.

"Arya is still a babe," his brother's wife explained. "And she is a bit sick."

"Of course," Benjen agreed and swept his gaze over the crowd of people, for there was one boy missing, the silver-haired babe his sister had brought to Winterfell all these years ago.

Lyanna had never confirmed it to him, but the moment he had laid eyes on the babe he had known that the boy wasn't Ned's son. Brandon might have fathered bastards, but not Ned. That was not his brother's way.

And yet Benjen hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Lyanna about it. The loss of their father and brother had been too fresh and his sister hadn't been quite herself when she had returned from the south. Back then hadn't been the right moment to address such issues, but six years was enough time.

"Where is my other nephew?" Benjen asked and searched Lyanna's face.

"Jon has a cold," Lyanna explained quickly. "You may meet him later...once he feels better."

Benjen was satisfied with this answer and soon his mind was more occupied with the ale and the roasted chicken. The south offered fine wine and other delicacies, but nothing compared to a proper ale from White Harbour. It made him feel like a Northman after spending so many years in the south.

“It seems you are enjoying your ale to the fullest,” Lady Catelyn added quietly. She seemed unsure as if she didn’t know how to approach Benjen, which was no surprise, given that they were practically strangers. That Lyanna’s boy was living here as Ned’s bastard must be hard too, though Benjen had already set his mind on offering his sister to accompany him to Moat Cailin.

“Well, I have to make the best out of it,” Benjen confirmed and placed the cup back on the table. “I won’t enjoy such luxuries once I move to Moat Cailin. There is still a lot of work to be done.”

Lady Catelyn nodded her head.

“I have seen the castle only once when I was travelling to Winterfell. Back then it was still a ruin.”

“Indeed,” Benjen agreed and swept his gaze over the middle of the hall, where a handful of drunken lords had taken their ladies to the dancefloor. Surprisingly, he found Lyanna among them, sharing a dance with no other than the SmallJon.

 It was hard to overlook him. He was a massive man with a bushy beard and he loomed over his petit sister like a giant. Not that Lyanna appeared frightened. On the contrary, she was even smiling, though Benjen could see that it was more of a polite smile than one given out of happiness.

“The SmallJon is quite taken with Lady Lyanna,” Lady Catelyn added, an amused smile curling on her lips. “Ned thinks he is going to propose soon, though I doubt he is going to have much luck in that matter. Lady Lyanna has already refused a good dozen of matches.”

“The SmallJon is a fine man,” Benjen countered and watched Lyanna change partners. “But he is younger than her and I doubt my sister is going to leave…” he trailed off as he realized that he said too much.

Lady Catelyn nodded her head and brushed her braid over her shoulder, a tense expression washing over her face as her blue eyes darted to Ned, who was speaking to Lord Karstark. “

“It is understandable that she wants to stay with the boy,” Lady Catelyn replied. “But some of the lords are wondering why Ned is tolerating her refusal. Some of them think that six years is enough time to forget about the past.”

Benjen was taken back by her words and it took him a moment to regain his composure.

 _It is understandable that she wants to stay with the boy_ , Lady Catelyn had said.  _Could it be that she knows the truth?_

“Are you well?” Lady Catelyn’s soft voice called him back to the present. “Did I say something wrong?”

Benjen shook his head and brought his cup back to his lips, pouring the substance down his throat, to overplay his reaction.

“I am well,” he replied and his eyes darted back to Lyanna, who had left her last dance partner and was walking back to her place at the high table. Not wasting more time, Benjen rose to his feet and was about to leave, but reminded himself of his manners.

“Forgive me, but I need to leave you, my lady,” he apologized and met Lyanna half the way.

A smile played on her lips when her grey eyes met his.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked.

“I would rather take a walk in the godswood,” he suggested instead and offer his hand. “It has been too long that I laid eyes on real weirwood tree. And later…I want to go down to the crypts…to pay my respects.”

Lyanna’s smile faded instantly, but she didn’t refuse his request and took his hand.

“Of course. Let’s go.”

The night air was sharp and a cold gust of wind washed over them as they stepped into the godswood. Yet that didn’t matter to Benjen when he laid eyes on the weirwood tree.

It was a beautiful sight. The moonlight made the pale bark shimmer like ebony and the wet leaves of the tree were reminiscent of rubies. Even the grotesque bleeding face carved in the bark of the tree trunk was beautiful to behold and woke long-forgotten memories.

Benjen had wrecked is brains how he would approach this topic, but now it was almost easy.

“Do you remember the shield I painted for you?” he asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the howling wind. “I always wondered…What happened to it?”

Lyanna tensed immediately and angled her head to look at him. Her face had changed to the color of the weirwood tree.

“The Knight of the Laughing Tree,” she replied and let go of his arm. Then, she turned away, her gaze fixed on the small pool of water placed in the middle of the godswood. “It was my greatest victory and my greatest failure.”

Benjen didn’t know what to make of that and approached quietly, the cracking of snow beneath his feet the only sound.

“I do not understand…” he began, but Lyanna cut him off and whirled around.

“Of course you don’t,” she said and crossed her arms. “I never told you that the Prince Rhaegar found out about our trickery. He was the one who took the shield. I gave it to him.”

Benjen froze and gave her a disbelieving look.

“How? Is that why _he_  took you?”

Lyanna frowned at the insinuation.

“He didn’t do anything,” she replied almost angrily. “He never did anything to me, but love me.”

Benjen couldn’t speak nor move. Everything had fallen into place in that moment and it made completely sense. Prince Rhaegar had never stroke him as a man who could harm a woman.

And yet he had readily believed the lie given to him. _I was such a fool._

Lyanna seemed equally frustrated and sighed deeply.

“The Mad King sent Rhaegar to find me and he did, but instead of delivering me to his father he asked to take my shield. He let me go and the rest you know. He crowned me Queen of Love and Beauty and all the smiles died and so on.”

“I see,” Benjen said trying to wrap his head around the fact that Lyanna hadn’t shared anything of this with him. They had always been close and had always shared everything. “But then why did Brandon think you were abducted?”

“I was abducted,” she explained and shuddered. “But not by Rhaegar’s hands, but the Mad King’s henchmen. I do not know how the Mad King found out I was the Knight of the Laughing  Tree, but he sent men to attack my travelling party while I was riding for Riverrun. They appeared suddenly. At first I didn’t even know who these men were, but then I saw the Targaryen banner and knew what was going on. I do not even blame Brandon for thinking it was Rhaegar as these fools were riding under the Targaryen banners. I assume believing that it was Rhaegar was the only thing that made sense to him given the incident at the tourney. I heard about Brandon's death from Ned's mouth…,” she trailed off, her grey eyes still fixed on him.

Benjen took a moment to take in all this fresh information, but there were still many things that were unclear to him.

“So you were a prisoner of the Mad King?” he asked, trying his best to make sense of what she had said. “I assume Prince Rhaegar saved you? Is that why you had his bastard babe?”

“He married me,” Lyanna replied, a sad smile spreading over her lips. “Albeit only under the Faith of the Old Gods. By the time he had saved me the rebellion was already in full swing and Rhaegar was afraid to return to court…he feared his father’s rage too much. Thus, he took me to Dorne…to Starfall to be exact. The Daynes sheltered us there until Rhaegar was called back to King’s Landing, by no other than the Mad King himself. He had even sent Ser Gerold Hightower with a royal pardon and the promise that no harm would come to his person. Rhaegar left of course, because that was the only way to see Princess Elia and his children. He wanted to make sure that they can sail away to Dragonstone with his Lady Mother and brother, but it seems it never came to that. I know how mad that sounds…but Rhaegar intended to parley with father after the rebels were defeated. Rhaegar had hoped that our marriage might convince father to sue for peace. He also intended to remove the Mad King from power and hoped that father would convince the rebel lords to join him in his endeavor. He wanted to call a Great Council…to explain everything…it was never meant to be like this. Seeing Robert on the throne is like a nightmare come true,” she continued, her grey eyes growing larger with every passing moment, beseeching him to believe her.

And he did believe her. Lyanna was not prone to lying. His sister was always blunt.

And yet there was one thing that bothered him about this tale.

“But he withheld Brandon’s and father’s death from you?” Benjen asked, trying his best to keep his anger at bay. “Are you not the least bit angered by this?”

“I was angry, but I had a long time to think about Rhaegar’s actions,” Lyanna replied and sighed in frustration. “At first I thought he used me, but then he never forced me to go along with his plans either. I could have gone back, but I willingly choose Rhaegar over Robert, because I loved him and I was confident that everything would turn out as Rhaegar had planned. I do not know his true intentions, but I believe…no I know that he wanted to set things right. Rhaegar knew me better than most. He knew that I would storm back to Riverrun and do something foolish. Imagine if I had come forward in the middle of the rebellion, telling Robert that all of it had been nothing but a lie? Do you think he would have given in and laid down his weapons?”

“No,” Benjen replied without hesitation. Too much blood had been shed to make such a peace possible and what little he had seen of Robert Baratheon made Benjen confident that his sister’s estimation was correct. Robert Baratheon was a proud and hot-headed man. He wouldn’t have understood, but the same could not be said about Ned.

“Ned would have understood and father too,” Benjen countered and tightened his grip on her shoulder. “He was a strict man, but I think Prince Rhaegar’s estimation was not wrong. Ned and even father wouldn’t have supported Robert’s claim had they known the truth.”

“Sadly, father was dead and Ned…I suppose Rhaegar didn’t know him well enough to trust him. I understand why he wanted to wait out the battle…,” she stuttered and leaned her head on his shoulder. “He was confident that he would win…it was all my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Benjen replied gently and stroked her hair, all anger forgotten. “It was  _our_  fault. I helped you be the Knight of the Laughing Tree. We were both foolish children. It was a terrible mistake.”

“Jon was no mistake,” she countered suddenly, her glassy gaze searching his. “And he is all that is left of Rhaegar.  He is his last son and heir.”

Arthur Dayne used to call him  _our_  rightful King and I sent him away,” she added and pounded his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Lyanna,” Benjen said and touched her cheek. “I understand what you are trying to say, but who would support you? Ned won’t go against Robert and Jon Arryn considers him a son. Lord Tywin’s daughter is Queen and the Dornish would hate your boy more than the Mountain. I suppose there are the Tyrells, but Mace Tyrell is not the kind of man who gets his hands dirty without getting anything in return. The Kingsguard would have dragged the boy through Essos, raising him to be a King he might never be. Do not get the boy killed over misplaced guilt. I didn’t know your Rhaegar, but I do not think that he would want to see his last son butchered for this bloody crown. I am no father, but at least I wouldn’t want that.”

Lyanna nodded her head, growing utterly still in his arms.

“I know that,” she replied at last and brushed her tears away. “But that’s how I feel.”

“Then I will help you to forget about the past. Come with me to Moat Cailin. When Jon is old enough I am going to make him a knight or perhaps a lord. Who says that I will have sons of my own? Even though I can’t give your boy the  Stark name I could still make him my heir. I am sure even Ned would approve such an arrangement and if he doesn’t, well, then I will convince him.”

Lyanna chuckled sadly and touched his cheek.

“And what if you have sons your own?”

Benjen hadn’t considered that. He had spoken from the heart, not from the mind.

“Well, then we will find a different place for your boy. I am sure there is some lady he could wed and some lands he could take.”

Lyanna smiled sadly dropped her hand to his shoulder.

“I would like that for Jon and I am sure Lady Stark would also be pleased to see us gone. I do not know if you know, but she is aware of the truth.”

Benjen nodded his head.  _I knew it._

“Meaning?”

“That I agree to your offer, but Jon won't join me. Lord Manderly's son offered to make him his page and Ned agreed on my behalf. That was long before I heard that you are returning to Winterfell. I can't go back on my word. It would be an insult to Lord Manderly and it is probably for the best. People have already been noticing how fond I am of my brother's bastard son. It won't be the same as having him close, but Jon cannot depend on me forever."

Benjen didn't agree with her, but Lyanna was Jon's mother.

"You are probably right, but I we shall visit White Harbour as often as possible."

Lyanna smiled and squeezed his hand.

"We shall."

...

…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some people might have noticed...I put more tags to this story and I want to explain them.
> 
> The Benjen x Dacey thing I hope is logical enough. There is no exact age given for her character so I place her around sixteen or seventeen in this chapter. Benjen is around twenty, a good age to get married.
> 
> The Wylla x Jon thing won't last forever. It will be an Ygritte thing, though that doesn't mean their relationship will be in anyway similiar. Wylla won't force Jon to have sex with him or an bullshit like that nor is Wylla in any way like Ygritte. However, their relationship will have an impact on Jon's developement as person. If that makes sense? I know people prefer the pure Dany x Jon virgin love stuff, but I want to write something different here from what I have written before. That said, there won't be any harem stuff going on, but since Jon is going to live in White Harbour for a time it would be silly that he would not show any interest in girls. He is a healthy young boy and contrary to canon he has no reason to feel so bad about his bastard birth. He has a future and possibilities that are open to him.
> 
> Now to the Renly and Daenerys marriage thing. Renly didn't even bang Margaery Tyrell in book canon, a girl he should have banged especially if he wanted to make their marriage legal and because he heavily depended on Tyrell men. So no, Renly and Dany won't consummate their marriage, because Renly is not interested her in her in such a manner and is into Loras. However, that will also lead to certain conflicts between the two, but not because of rejected love, but because it is humiliating to have a husband who sleeps with his squire.
> 
> I put the Dany x Jon slowburn there, because their relationship will start out rather rocky and will change more to a friendship before anything romantic will happen between them. Daenerys in this story grew up like a hostage and has no reason to trust Jon, the son of a man who helped killing her family. And Jon will have plenty other things to worry about. The marriage with Renly also kinda protects Daenerys and she knows that. The Daenerys in this story grew in Westeros and knows the ins and outs at court. She wouldn't risk her head for Ned Stark's bastard son, though she will eventually find out the truth.
> 
> And the motivation for the marriage between Renly and Dany should be clear enough: That way Dany is less of a danger for Robert's rule. He could have married her to Joff, but I doubt Robert would agree to have his heir married to dragonspawn. Renly is the younger son and he would have to get through Stannis if he wanted to grab the throne. Another thing: Robert will be much more in shape in this story than his book counterpart when he comes visiting Winterfell. I mean, he still whores and drinks, but he has some reason to keep in shape, namely Lyanna. He was very hesitant to marry Cersei and he is still hankering after her like he did in the books, but here she is alive, which changes things drastically.  
> ...
> 
> And in regards this chapter:  
> All Lyanna knew about the rebellion was that Robert was leading it and that he had support from the Starks, the Arryns and the Tullys. She assumed that Rickard was leading them, because she didn't know that he was dead. However, she didn't tell Benjen everything, namely that there were rumours that their Rickard, Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn were conspiring to depose the Targs before the rebellion even happened and that this was the reason for the southron matches Rickard made for his children. Rhaegar believed these rumours, but hoped that if he won a deceisive victory against the rebels at the Trident he could get them to parly and it was "partly" the reason he married Lyanna. And that is also why he basically went straight for Robert. Killing Robert would have put a damper on the rebellion. Sadly, he miscalculated his abilities and died. Lyanna also trusted that Rhaegar wouldn't harm her father or brothers. She might have been naive, but then she was fourteen years old and was desperate to get away from Robert. People who are desperate often do silly stuff and even Lyanna feared Robert's wrath. She knows him well enough that he wouldn't forgive such a humiliation. And at last. She loved Rhaegar and love blinds people. Rhaegar also loved her, but his reasons were not one-deminsional. He was neither only obsessed with prophecy nor was he just using her as marriage pawn. It was a mix of many factors that played together and ended in a bloody tragedy.


	7. Catelyn

“Jon!“ Lady Lyanna called out to the boy, who was carrying Arya on his back as if he was a horse. “Put Arya down and lend me a hand.”

Like so often these days, the boy glowered.

“Do I have to?” the boy asked sourly. “Arya won’t like if I stop now.”

Arya was now barely a year old, but her face was still plump, though she had more hair than most children her age. Catelyn should have been happy about this fact, but Arya’s hair was constant tangle of knots and difficult to tame. “

“Stop arguing and come here,” Lady Lyanna repeated and smiled at Jon. ”We are leaving on the morrow and nothing is ready. Put Arya down and led me a hand.”

“And what if I don’t?” the boy asked brazenly. “Will you punish me?”

If Lady Lyanna surprised by the boy’s brazen words it didn’t show on her face.

“Well, then I will do it alone,” she declared and made her way to the strongbox which harbored the boys’ clothing. Most of it were tunics, breeches, cloaks and other garments. The girls had their own boy, placed beside it. “But I won’t let you go to White Harbour without proper clothing, least Manderly thinks you are a vagrant.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” the asked grumpily and placed Arya back on the ground after she had started to squirm on his back. “Who cares what a  _bastard_  wears? I don’t!”

Cat winced at the boy’s tone. Even Arya had grown silent, her grey eyes flickering from Jon and Lady Lyanna.

Cat usually avoided the boy’s presence, but she had never heard him speak with such vitriol, at least not to Lady Lyanna.

Whatever had happened, something must have stirred the boy’s anger.

“Bastard or not,” Lyanna insisted firmly. Cat had seen her wolf’s blood stir, but at other times she could be as cold as ice. At such times, Lady Lyanna reminded her of Ned when his mind was occupied by dark thoughts. “Lord Manderly is kind to welcome you in White Harbour. A page must look proper.”

“I don’t want to be a  _bloody_  page!” Jon snarled back at her like a wolf and gave her a defiant look. “I want to be a knight! I want to learn how to fight with a sword! Theon Greyjoy said that Lord Manderly’s son is as fat as his father and that he can barely sit a horse. How is he going to teach me sword fighting when he can’t even sit a  _bloody_  horse?”

Lyanna didn’t answer immediately. She simply stared at Jon as if by simply looking at him she would be able to determine the source of his rage.

Closing the strongbox, she forced a smile over her lips as she searched Jon’s face.

“Most squires serve as pages, especially boys as young as you. Such is the custom,” Lyanna explained patiently, knelt down before Jon and placed her hands on his shoulders. “And I doubt Lord Manderly’s son trains his squires himself. I am sure he employs someone like Ser Roderik.”

“I don’t care!” the boy replied stubbornly and brushed her hands.

“I want to stay here! I don’t to go!” he shouted at the top of his lungs and rushed towards the door, shutting it behind him with a thundering sound.

Lyanna grimaced and brushed her unbraided hair out of her face, before returning to her seat beside the hearth.

“The boy is angry,” Cat couldn’t help but to remark. “Didn’t you say he was excited to leave for White Harbour?”

“He was excited,” Lyanna replied in a subdued voice. “Something happened…He has been like this since Uncle Benjen returned to us. At first, I thought it was Theon Greyjoy’s bad influence, because the foolish boy likes to rile up Jon by calling him all kind of names. Robb told me they are constantly fighting. Well, now I think it  _must_  be something else…,” Lady Lyanna trailed off.

Cat wasn’t surprised that Lady Lyanna thought ill of the Greyjoy heir. He was several years older than the boys and had a lustful mind. Only a few days ago she had seen him ogling one of the servant girls. She wished Robert Baratheon had sent the boy to some other lord. It was difficult enough that they were harboring Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard child, but now they also had to take care of Balon Greyjoy’s ill-natured heir.

“Mayhaps the boy should stay a bit longer,” Cat offered and watched while Arya was trying to crawl from one side of thee room to the other. Sometimes, she stood up and walked a few feet, but most of the time she landed on her bottom. “To give the boy time to calm down.”

“Jon won’t calm down until the source of his anger is addressed,” Lady Lyanna explained. “Sadly, I do not know what angers him, but I doubt it has to do with his departure for White Harbour. I asked for Jon’s approval and he was glad to go. No, Jon must bite in the sour apple. He will go and once he has settled in I shall visit him. He might moan and complain, but he will accept his fate and hopefully forget his anger in good time.”

“Have you tried speaking to him?” Cat asked instead.

“I have asked him numerous times what’s bothering him, but he won’t answer me,” Lyanna insisted and met Cat’s gaze, her grey eyes piercing like a sharp blade. “It is no use. The boy is too much like myself and my father…stubborn as a mule as my mother used to say. The best way to deal with him is to leave him be and give him something to occupy his mind with. I am sure Lord Manderly’s son will do that for me.”

Cat didn’t know what to say. Lady Lyanna and Ned hardly ever talked about their father, but Lady Lyanna had implied more than once that her relationship with Lord Rickard had been rather strained.

“Is that what Lord Rickard did to you when you were being stubborn?”

“Not my father,” Lady Lyanna replied seriously. “My lady mother did this whenever I was being difficult. She would sit me down with the servants and ignore me until I forgot about my pride. She used to do the same with my father whenever she was displeased with him. It always worked.”

It was hard for Cat to believe this tale. She couldn’t imagine a high lord bending to the will of his lady.

“Your face tells me that you don’t believe me,” Lyanna remarked, an amused smile curling on her lips. “But my mother was very different from me. She was always clam and soft-spoken, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t be strict. Even Brandon was afraid of her at times.”

“Brandon was afraid of his mother?” Cat asked in utter disbelief.

“It is true,” Lady Lyanna confirmed and smiled sadly. “He was terrified of her. Brandon would have grown into a much different man had my mother lived…and my father would have been a much different man had my mother lived. She would have never agree to his plans for  _us_.”

“His plans for you and Brandon,” Cat corrected her, knowing very well that Lady Lyanna was talking about the matches Lord Rickard had arranged for her and Brandon.

Her memories of Brandon were blurry, but the two times they had met he had been charming and friendly.

At the time Cat had wholeheartedly believed that he had wanted to marry her.

Maybe it had been another lie….

“Did Brandon ever voice dislike about _our_ betrothal?”

Lyanna paled a little and bit her lips. She looked like a child that had been caught stealing.

“There were other women…before you,” Lady Lyanna explained softly and averted her gaze.

Cat shouldn’t have been surprised. Brandon had been a handsome man and the heir to Winterfell. It was natural that he was seeking company elsewhere.

“I see,” she said hesitatingly. She shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t helped it. “How many?”

Lyanna’s eyes widened, her expression conflicted and lost.

“You can tell me,” Cat prodded. “I always knew that Brandon was no Septon.”

“There was Lady Barbrey…now Dustin,” Lyanna answered hesitatingly. “He got her with child and wanted to marry her…that was shortly after father agreed to the match between you and Brandon.”

 _Brandon didn’t know me then_ , she reminded herself. _I was a stranger to him._

“I assume Lord Rickard refused?” Cat asked. “And Lady Dustin…she has yet to bear a living child…” Cat trailed off, an uncomfortable silence spreading between them.

“Aye,” Lady Lyanna confirmed. “Brandon insisted upon the marriage, probably out of guilt, but my father refused. He threatened to disinherit him and to send him to the Wall. Thus, my brother gave in and Lady Barbrey…she remained disgraced. I do not what happened to the child, but I  _suppose_  she took moon tea. I doubt Lord Dustin would have taken her otherwise.”

Cat shuddered, recalling the piercing looks the woman had given her. When she had asked Ned about it, he hadn’t given her a clear answer, but now she knew the truth.

_I stole Brandon from her. No, my father stole Brandon from her. No wonder she dislikes me so._

“And the second woman?” Cat asked.

“I do not know…,” Lyanna began slowly, but eventually continued to explain. “The second woman was Lady Ashara Dayne. He met her at Harrenhall and he got her with child…a girl. Ned told me that it died. I spoke only briefly to Lady Ashara, but she told me that Brandon had promised to marry her…that he…,” Lady Lyanna stopped abruptly and met Cat’s gaze. “That he intended to forsake his rights as Lord of Winterfell and would take her to Essos. I do not know for sure if it is true, but I think my brother was serious about this.”

Cat felt anger welling up inside her, but then she realized that theirs had not been a match of love. At least for Brandon, so much she knew now.

“How can you be sure?” Cast asked and brushed these feelings aside.

“Because Lady Ashara told me that Brandon gave her his vow at the heart tree,” Lyanna explained. “A Northman wouldn’t give such a vow lightly, not even Brandon. I know the Old Gods mean nothing to you, but for us such a vow has the same binding as a betrothal blessed by a Septon.”

“Our betrothal was also blessed,” Cat insisted, but only half-heartedly. She knew it was not the same thing. Ned had built her a Sept, but he had yet to set a foot into the building. “But only by a Septon.”

“Whatever happened in the past is of no consequence,” Lady Lyanna added abruptly and rose to her feet, after she had folded the last two dresses she intended to take with her to Moat Cailin.

“You said that Brandon was like King Robert…that he wouldn’t have kept to my bed.”

Lyanna grimaced as if she recalled some unpleasant memory.

“I doubt the marriage to Lady Ashara would have changed my brother’s lust for women. He would have married her, fathered children on her, but eventually he would have grown bored with her. I know Brandon, he was always easily bored. Lady Ashara was a beautiful woman, but beauty is as fleeting as spring. The birth of one or two babes and autumn is ever so close.”

Then, Lady Lyanna fell silent and stepped towards the door. In the last moment she stopped and turned around.

“Brandon is dead and gone. Lady Ashara is dead and gone. Lady Barbrey may dislike you, but she seems happy with Lord Dustin, though I am not sure if she will ever bear a living child..”

“You say that so easily,” Cat admitted. “But it is not so easy to accept that everything I believed was a lie.”

“The world is full of lies, my lady,” Lady Lyanna replied. “But people prefer the comfort of lies instead of hearing the cold truth.”

…


	8. Jon

**Jon**

Jon stood on the prow of a ship and watched the rolling waves. He was a boy of ten and four and the smell of the salty sea was as familiar to him as the taste of snow ever since Ser Wylis had taken him on his first travel to Volantis.

Many years had passed since that day and by now Jon had travelled to most of the Free Cities. Despite being a squire he had also learned the craft of a seaman. He had learned how to read the stars and the most important thing, namely, to haggle in Bastard Valyrian, though by now he had also learned bits and pieces of High Valyrian.

When Ser Wylis had informed him that they would travel to Pentos, Jon had been excited, but now after he had laid eyes on the city, he felt slightly disappointed.

Pentos was by no means ugly, but nothing compared to the beauty of Volantis or Lys.

 _Plain_ , that was the word Jon would have used to describe this city. _So very plain._

Pentos walls were made pale sandstone and behind it he spotted numerous brick towers and walled estates. Now and then he spotted a piece of greenery, but otherwise the city made a lifeless impression on him.

The most beautiful part of the city was the harbor, made of red bricks and covered with numerous paintings of sea dragons and other sea monsters.

“There you are, my boy,” Ser Wylis remarked and stumbled over the deck towards Jon. His beard was whipping around his round head and his brows were covered in sweat, but that was not surprising. It was midday and the sun was scalding. “Come here.”

“I am coming,” Jon assured him and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword. It was a gift from Uncle Benjen, who had visited White Harbour scarce a year ago in company of his wife and children. The blade was made of northern steel and the pommel was wrought in the form of a snarling wolf.

Most squires weren’t allowed to carry steel, but that was hardly avoidable given that he was travelling through foreign lands full of pickpockets.

 _A man must keep his weapon close_ , Ser Wylis never failed to remind him. _And his purse even closer._

“What are you doing, my boy?” Ser Wylis’ booming voice called him back to the present. “Are you dreaming again?”

“I am here, my lord,” Jon replied apologetically and leaned on the wooden railing. Standing next to Ser Wylis heavy form Jon couldn’t help but to feel like a crannogman, the man’s girth barely held together by the leather belt wound around his silken doublet. “I am here.”

“I can see that,” Ser Wylis replied and leaned foward, his face quite pale. For a man who had travelled to so many places, Ser Wylis had a weak tolerance for sea travel. “What do you say, my boy?” Do you like Pentos?”

“It is a beautiful city,” Jon replied and watched as the ship parted the green-blue waves. “But why are we buying the glass here? Wouldn’t it be better to buy it directly in Myr?”

“Aye,” Ser Wylis agreed and watched as the shiphands and sailors lowered the wooden plank that would allow them cross over to the harbor. “But our main purpose is to buy corn. I heard the last harvest resulted in a surplus of wheat and barley, which means the price will be lower than elsewhere.”

“I see,” Jon replied in understanding and followed Ser Wylis.

The harbor proved livelier than expected. Left and right, he spotted merchants garbed in colorful robes, whores prying on the passing sailors and even a band of mummers who had erected their colorful tent across the taverns lining the eastern part of the harbor. Not far from there he also spotted a good dozen of merchant stalls, where one could buy all kinds of delicious dishes and exotic goods.

While Ser Wylis was speaking to the custom officer, Jon decided to explore the merchant stalls.

As he passed, he spotted a bare-headed Pentoshi selling some sort of spiced meat, a Quarteen woman selling honey and a self-declared healer, who was selling all kinds of wonderous potions, though Jon was unable to understand his crude dialect. The last stall belonged to a Tyroshi, his beard and curled hair striped in green, blue and pink. The sight tore a laugh from Jon’s lips, but the Tyroshi smiled aback at Jon.

“This is fine hair paste from Tyrosh,” he explained in Bastard Valyrian and pointed at his colorful beard. “Unlike other hair pastes this one even smells nice…it smells of flowers.”

“Flowers?” Jon asked skeptically as she regarded the small bottles lined along the wooden table. Wylla liked to paint her hair green and used these kind of hair pastes, but she had never smelled of flowers. Usually, she used perfume to cover the smell of the hair paste. _It would be the perfect gift_ , Jon decided and slipped his hand in the vest of his cloak, searching it for his purse.

He had plenty of coin, but he didn’t want to waste too much of it either.

Carefully, he eyed the writing on the bottles, trying to identify the scribbling. Jon was able to understand Bastard Valyrian well enough, but actually reading it was hard as the writing system differed slightly from city to city.

“Does that mean lavender?” Jon asked the Tyroshi merchant, whose’ eyes had followed him like a hawke. “Jasmine?”

“Lavender,” the Tyroshi confirmed and smiled slyly. “For your girl?”

Jon felt his cheeks burn, though he was not of the prudish sort. He and Wylla had fumbled around numerous times, though that certainly didn’t mean she was his girl.

Yet the merchant didn’t know that and Jon liked the idea of calling Wylla his girl. She was pretty and he liked her feisty nature.

 _A lowly bastard won’t be enough_ , he knew and felt the old bitterness stirring inside his heart. When he was a boy, he hadn’t been aware that there was a difference between him and Lord Eddard’s other children. Only after Theon Greyjoy had entered the household had he begun to understand the difference between trueborn and bastard children. Not long after, shy of his eight nameday, he had been confronted with an even colder truth…

 _Not now_ , Jon reminded himself and brushed these thoughts away. _Not now._

“What do you say, my boy?” the Tyriosh merchant asked and held up two bottles. “Two silver coins for two bottles?”

“Three bottles for one silver coin and fifty coppers,” Jon countered and held up three fingers.

“Four bottles for two silver coins and fifty coppers,” the merchant countered, shook his head.

“Two silver coins for four bottles,” Jon countered in a firm tone. “That’s my last offer.”

“Good,” the Tyroshi merchant finally agreed and opened his hand. “But first the payment.”

Jon chuckled and handed him the two silver coins. In exchange he received four bottles.

Satisfied, Jon returned to the ship, where Ser Wylis was directing the sailors where they belonged. They had brought fine pelts and timber that was widely-sought in Pentos. In return, they would buy Myrish glass and corn.

When Ser Wylis noticed Jon’s smile he wrinkled his brows in confusion.

“What did you buy, my boy?”

“Tyroshi hair paste,” Jon explained and opened one of the bottles. “It is supposed to smell like lavender. I thought Wylla might like it.”

Ser Wylis frowned.

“Smells flowery, but I am not sure if that is lavender. Well, Wylla is easy to please. I am sure she will like your gift.”

“True,” Jon agreed, before returning to his duties, which consisted of the simple task of counting crates and boxes.

It was long past midday when they had finished their work and decided to search for an appropriate lodging in the nearby taverns.

They passed several shabby inns made of wood, before they arrived at a place called _the Golden Maiden_. The thick brick walls and the smell of incense told him that this was one of the better inns.

As they entered the cramped room the delicious smell of roasted fish entered his nose and made his stomach grumble.

Ser Wylis seemed to share his feelings and promptly ordered a plate of roasted chicken.

Jon licked his fingers after he had placed the first piece of roasted meat into his mouth.

The taste made him sigh, the flesh incredibly delicious. The food of the north was simple, but here in the Free Cities food was not something meant to simply fill one’s empty belly. Food was like summerwine and meant to be savored.

“It’s good,” Ser Wylis declared and poured down a cup of wine. “But these damn Pentoshi use too much pepper. It makes my stomach burn.”

Jon couldn’t say that he shared Ser Wylis’ feelings. The peppers he had tasted in Dorne had been much worse. Jon had drowned a gallon of water, before he was able to feel his tongue again.

“Wine should help,” Jon offered instead and occupied himself with his food, his eyes darting to the men seated on the opposing table.

Jon counted thirty men, most of them garbed in shining armor and armed to the teeth. They were drinking and whoring without a care in the world.

“Sellswords,” Ser Wylis added and graced Jon with an amused smile. “Do you want to join?”

Jon shook his head, though he had more than once considered such an option, especially when he was particularly annoyed with the other squires. To them he was only the bastard, though they would never dare to say these words to his face.

 _Bastard_ , he repeated the word to himself, old memories filling his mind. It was such a dreadful word, a word he associated with the many lies his mother had spun to protect him.

Jon had grown up believing himself to be the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, but then he had found out the truth.

No, he had been borne from the loins of a different man. A man with a cursed name. A rapist who had plunged the Seven Kingdoms into a war and had brought about the destruction of the Targaryen dynasty.

 _Rhaegar Targaryen_ , Jon knew. _The Last Dragon._

That he had found out the truth had been another mistake. Jon had been a boy of barely eight namedays and he had lain abed with a fever that had turned out to be the pox. That night, he had been plagued by nightmares and as so often he had sought out his Aunt, finding her in the godswood with this stranger, who had later turned out to be his Uncle Benjen.

At first, Jon had been overwhelmed by the things his Aunt…no mother had told his Uncle, yet one memory had been branded in his mind forever.

_Jon was no mistake…And he is all that is left of Rhaegar. He is his last son and heir._

Jon had mulled over these words over a thousand times, trying to make sense of them. How could he be this man’s heir…the Prince had been wed to Princess Elia, but then it was also true that his brother and sister had perished with her during the sack of King’s Landing.

Mayhaps that was the reason his mother had referred to him as Prince Rhaegar’s heir. Jon was his last son, despite being born a bastard.

More than once he had wanted to speak with his mother, but then he had recalled the fear in her voice when she had spoken of King Robert.

“My boy,” Ser Wylis gruff voice called him back to the present. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jon lifted his head and found Ser Wylis’ beard stained with sauce.

“I am going to attempt a game. Mayhaps they can give us some recommendations,” Ser Wylis explained and jerked his head at the three men seated over a game of cards.

Jon ordered another cup of wine as he watched Ser Wylis go about his business. Seated alone, it didn’t take long before one of the serving girls drew closer, her slender body scarcely covered in a shining cloth of blue silk.

Her silver hair and blue eyes made him believe that she was from Lys. For some time, Jon had believed himself to be the son of a Lysean whore, though later he had heard the name “Ashara Dayne” whispered by one of the servants. It had been another lie.

The girl smiled sweetly as she sat down beside him. Jon had seen his face in Wylla’s looking-glass and hadn’t perceived himself as particularly good-looking, but that didn’t seem to bother the girls around him.

When Jon was ten and three he had taken his first girl to bed. She hadn’t told him her name, but she had green eyes and she had sold fish near the harbor. It had been a rather clumsy encounter and when she was done with him she had cooked moon tea over an open fire, before sending Jon on his way. He had never seen her again, but at least the other squires had stopped pestering about losing his maidenhead.

Now he had a girl waiting for him and felt no urge to betray this bond, no matter how fragile it was.

Thus, he lifted his cup and handed the girl a single piece of silver.

“Would you get us another flagon of wine?” he asked her, hoping this task would distract her for a while. Telling her that he had no need of her attention was not something he wanted to risk. Once he had sent a girl on her way and later he had seen her getting punished for her failure…

It was Ser Wylis cry of pain that roused him out of his stupor. As Jon lifted his head he found Ser Wylis sprawled to the ground, the three men that had been playing with him earlier looming over him.

The largest of the three was built like a boulder, his arms thick like tree trunks and his fingers curled around Ser Wylis’ neck.

The other two appeared equally threatening. One was a thin fellow that carried a spear and the other one wielded a scythe.

Stumbling to his feet, Jon freed his sword and slashed it over the massive man’s thigh. Blood splattered in Jon’s face and a sharp cry left the man’s mouth.

Barely a heartbeat had passed before the thin one jabbed his spear at Jon, barely missing his head. Jon stumbled backwards, parrying the next blow while the other man, armed with the scythe, was cornering him from the other side.

Jon’s quickly pulled back his sword, but he it was already too late. He managed to parry the next blow, but when the scythe brushed his head he felt pain explode all over his face.

The next thing Jon felt was his back hitting the stone floor. Suddenly, he felt warm blood running down his cheek and bit his lips to ease the pain.

More and more blood was dribbling into his face as he tried to pick up his sword, his hand trembling from the effort.

“Can’t pick up that sword, can you, foolish boy?” the man with the scythe asked and stepped on his sword.

“You cut me with that sword of yours,” added the massive man he had wounded earlier, his hand covering the large cut spreading over his thigh. It looked painful, but was not deadly. It made Jon wish that he had aimed for a kill.

Grinning, the man leaned down and was about to pick up Jon’s blade, but a heartbeat later his back was pierced by a blade.

Jon’s world was blurred by shapes of blood and dust, but it was no illusion.

The man who had buried his blade in the massive man’s back was tall and graceful, his shoulder-length black hair spilling over his shoulders like a river of ink.

“Pathetic,” the man muttered in Bastard Valyrian, though his voice was laced with a clear Dornish accent.

With a quick pull of his hand the man freed his blade and the massive man collapsed like a puppet without strings.

“Three grown men against a half-grown boy. Don’t you think that is a bit unfair?”

“Why do you care, sellsword?” the man with the scythe asked threateningly. “This is none of your business.”

The sellsword didn’t even move, his startling violet eyes filled with amusement as he watched the movement of the thin man armed with a spear.

“Simple. I just decided to make it my business,” the sellsword added and lifted his blade in an almost childlike manner.

“Tell me…Do you know who we are serving?” the sellsword asked and waved his hand at his companions seated at a nearby table. All of them wore splendid armor, but the dark-haired sellsword was clearly of a higher rank than the others, his armor gilded and polished like a looking glass.

 _The Golden Company_ , Jon realized despite the pain and pulled himself back to his feet. Ever slowly, he angled his head to get a look at Ser Wylis, who sat backed against the wall, his face drenched in sweat and his anxious gaze flickering between the sellsword and the other two men.

“The Golden Company,” the sellsword said at last, his eyes darting to Jon, who had finally managed to retrieve his sword. Seeing this, the sellsword started to nod his head in an approving gesture, another smile curling on his lips.

“Killing you two fools would be like cutting a cake,” the sellsword added almost cheerfully and Jon knew that this was his sign for attack.

He gritted his teeth, balanced his weight and slammed his sword in the man’s back, who had nearly bashed his head with a scythe.

By the time Jon’s eyes had settle on the man with the spear the sellsword had slashed the man’s throat.

Jon watched in silence as the man collapsed to the ground, a puddle of blood spreading beneath his lifeless body.

“That was rather underwhelming,” the sellsword added in a strangely serious tone and sheathed his blade, his gaze flickering back to Ser Wylis. Along the way he picked up the bundle of coin the massive man had tried to wrestle from Ser Wylis’ hands and dropped it before the shuddering man’s feet.

“You are a member of Manderly, aren’t you, my lord?,” the sellsword asked and dipped his head in greeting.

“I am Ser Wylis Manderly,” Lord Wylis confirmed and eyed the sellsword warily. “I owe you my thanks, good Ser.”

“Not only me,” the sellsword replied and jerked his head at Jon. His head throbbed painfully, but the fact that he was able to stand without puking his guts out told him that the wound was half as bad as it felt. “The boy played his part well.”

“Jon Snow is a good boy…a good squire,” Ser Wylis stuttered his agreement and finally managed to pull himself back to his feet, but purposely avoided the dead man littering the ground. “But we would be both dead without your assistance. Is there a way I can repay you?”

The sellsword didn’t answer at once, his dark violet eyes looking past Ser Wylis and searching Jon’s face.

At last he cleared his throat and pointed at Jon.

“I want the boy. He is my price.”

Jon sucked in a deep breath, unable to form a sentence as his gaze darted back to Ser Wylis.

He smiled, confusion and displeasure written all over his flushed face.

“The boy is my liege lord’s natural son and I am pledge to protect him. The boy will not be traded like a slave. We in the north do not follow such vile customs.”

Surprisingly, the sellsword started to laugh, his cheeks slightly flushed as he smiled at Jon.

“How old are you, my boy?”

“Ten and four,” Jon replied and swallowed hard, his hand brushing over the pommel of his sword. “Nearly a man grown.”

“Was that your first kill?” the sellsword asked.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed, fresh blood dribbling down his face. “That man was my first kill, though I did rather poorly. The big one should have been my first…I should have aimed for a kill.”

The sellsword chuckled, his face alight with joy.

“Well, it seems you learned a valuable lesson, my boy. And my offer still stands. Join me and I shall teach you what it means to wield a blade.”

It was a tempting offer, but then his thoughts strayed back to Wylla and his mother. He couldn’t just leave them.

“Aye,” Jon replied and returned the sellsword’s smile. “I learned a valuable lesson today. I feel honored by your offer, but I must go home…to my family. Mayhaps when I am older and have earned my knighthood.”

“You are an honest boy,” the sellsword remarked almost softly and slipped his hand in the vest of his cloak.

Once he had found what he was searching for, he stretched out his hand and drew closer.

“Here,” he told Jon and opened his fist, showing him a shiny gold coin with strange markings. “When the day comes show this coin to one of my brothers and ask for Harry Strickland.”

Then, the sellsword dipped his head and left them, his men following him like a horde of ducklings.

Some laughed and others eyed Jon with curiosity, but nobody cared about the fools that had died that day.

“Strange fellows these sellswords,” Ser Wylis soft-spoken voice echoed in Jon’s ears. “But at least we are alive.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed and eyed the coin in his hand. “At least we are alive.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am in the minority when it comes to book readers, but I actually enjoyed ep 1 of season 8 more than season seven so far.
> 
> The reunions were nicely done, Daenerys finally acts more like her book character, namely like a young woman with fears and feelings. I like her queen mode speeches like the next person, but the scene at the waterfall felt like future "house with the red door reference". It makes me also believe that neither Dany or Jon will rule in the end, but choose to live a peaceful life instead.
> 
> The only thing that rubbed me the wrong way was the fact that nobody seems to care that there is a fucking zombie dragon coming for them...Dany seems to have forgotten about that as if it means nothing to her.
> 
> And Bran...he cracks me up. I love how he placed himself in the middle of the courtyard and waited for Jaime like a boss. Look here, I am sill alive, motherfucker.
> 
> Surprisingly, I really liked the parentage reveal. Jon looked very shocked, but it was not overdramatic. I also liked that he was angry at Ned and didn't just shrug it off as...doesn't matter. He really looked as if he wanted to bash Sam's face.
> 
> I noticed a lot of people are angry about Sam crying about his family and trying to push Jon for the throne, but then Sam does something similiar in the books when he manipulates his brothers to make Jon Lord Commander. He is a manipulative little shit. It is in his nature. Not that I care about Randyll Tarly. The guy was an abusive asshole and a traitor, but I think it would have been smarter to spare his dumb son. I think in that case Tyrion had a point.
> 
> And Tyrion...after watching him defend Cersei in front of the Lords of the North I have come to the conclusion that his consumption of wine is affecting his brain or that he is actually a traitor and was bullshitting everyone from the beginning as some leaks indicate. At this point I really hope he is a traitor.
> 
> And Cersei...she reminds me of Hitler in the movie the Downfall. She still thinks everything is going to work out for her. It is glorious to watch. I am still waiting for her "Where is Fegelein moment."
> 
> And Euron...well he is a watered-down version of his book character, but I think he really doesn't give a fuck about the future. He just wants to have fun and fuck the queen before the long night arrives. I think he really is a godless man.
> 
> I also like German Jon Snow more. When he speaks to Sansa he sounds much less like a dork, though I like the actor.
> 
> I know. Nobody cares about my ramblings, but I needed to get that out.
> 
> Ah yes. I wonder...Who was the sellsword speaking to Jon?


	9. Wylla

**Wylla**

Wylla tried her best to focus on her food. Every time, she shifted her attention back to her butter-drenched lobster, Jon was lifting his head and smiling at her. Luckily, her mother was more occupied with her father’s broken nose than her and Jon’s exchange of sign-language.

Everyone else was enraptured by the retelling of her father’s encounter with three pickpockets. Her grandfather Lord Manderly was nervously sipping from his cup, her sister was fiddling with the hem of her new dress and her Uncle Wendle was furrowing his heavy brows.

Once, hear father had finished telling his story, her grandfather shifted his attention to Jon, who was seated next to her father.

Normally, he was seated with the squires, but today her grandfather had decided to invite him to a private supper. Jon had after all saved her father’s life.

“Do you know what my father always said about bravery, my boy?” her grandfather asked Jon, who had barely managed to lift his head in time.

“What did he say, my lord?” Jon asked.

Wylla had to cover her mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud.

“That bravery is just a different word for stupidity,” her grandfather explained, though there was a hint of amusement ringing in his voice. “Please, do not misunderstand me, my boy. I am thankful for what you were trying to do, but at the end of the day you are still our liege Lord’s son. Bastard or not, you are of Stark blood and when I took you as a ward I swore to keep you safe, but you are not making it easy for me to fulfill my promise.”

“I am a bastard,” Jon replied and frowned. “And I did what was necessary, my lord. I do not understand how that makes me stupid.”

“Bravery or stupidity,” her grandfather quipped and re-filled his cup. “These are just the words of an old man and as you should know by now…words are wind. Insulting you was not intention and as custom demands you shall have your reward, something your heart must have been longing for a long time…knighthood.”

Jon was no prone to smiles, but in the moment his long face had lightened up like a room full of candles. He looked like a young boy celebrating his nameday.

“You mean it, my lord?” Jon asked in disbelief. “I do not know how to thank you…” he trailed off, his voice failing him.

Her grandfather chuckled and jerked his head at her father, Ser Wylis. Like her grandfather, her father was of a rather heavy built and sported a large walrus mustache, but with his broken nose he looked almost like a squashed tomato.

“Don’t thank me, my boy. You are a bit young, but then you got nearly killed. It’s the least we can do.”

“I think the boy understands what you want of him, father,” her father added and searched Jon’s face. “You shall have your knighthood, but it would be in our interest if you would keep the details of this incident to yourself. Nobody needs to know how close you were to death.”

“Of course,” Jon promised without hesitation. “I shall keep the details of this incident to myself, my lord. Do you want my vow?”

“Your word is enough, my boy,” her grandfather replied, a satisfied smile curling on his lips. “I know that you have an honest heart.”

Not long after supper Wylla decided it was time to seek out her grandfather. As expected, he found him at his table covered with papers, a flagon of wine and two candles flickering in the darkness. He barely fitted in the large cushioned armchair and the old Maester seated next to him looked almost like a hunch-backed child compared to her heavy-boned grandfather.

“Come in, dear child,,” he greeted her with a knowing smile and waved his hand at the Maester, who was moving his pen over a piece of parchment. It was his hint to leave, which the old Maester did without question, leaving his work half-finished.

It was something the old Maester was used to, because her grandfather held not much love for his kind. He considered them not trustworthy and didn’t want them to pry on family matters. “Do you want a cup?”

“I had my single cup,” she replied cheerfully and sat down in a nearby chair, her hands playing with the skirt of her dress. She had long hoped that Jon would be granted his knighthood, but now that it had finally happened she felt anxious. She was only a second daughter, but she doubted her mother would approve of her interest in a bastard, even if he was soon a knight. “Mother wouldn’t be pleased…”

Then, she lifted her head and smiled at her grandfather.

“I assume you know why I came?”

“I think I do,” her grandfather replied with a chuckle. “The servant girls keep me updated on your and your sister’s entanglements. I am better informed than your mother, dear child.”

Wylla sighed in relief. Her mother was a good woman, but would give her a stern scolding if she knew what she was doing with Eddard Stark’s bastard. That she hadn’t even given away her maidenhead wouldn’t have mattered for her overly-anxious mother.

“I thank you for not telling on us,” she replied and exchanged a warm smile with her grandfather. Then, she leaned forward and leaned on the wooden table, her long braid falling over her shoulders. “Mother would have made a fuss, but now that Jon is going to be a knight she might be more understanding.”

“I doubt it, dear child,” her grandfather gave her the truth. “But what your mother wants is of no importance to me. I am the Lord of White Harbour and the boy might be my only chance to get my hands on a Stark, bastard or not. Last year I sent your sister to Winterfell to bewitch Robb Stark, but as it turned out the boy seems more interested in the Karstark girl…Alys is her name. A sweet girl, if a bit too young to be wed….,” he continued to explain, but Wylla cut in.

“Does that mean I have your approval?” she asked, her hands grabbing the table.

Her grandfather sighed and nodded his head.

“Aye, you have my approval.”

Wylla didn’t know why, but she felt suddenly much lighter as she leaned back in her chair, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

“And Lord Stark?” she asked, reminding herself that they would also need his approval. “Do you think he will also agree?”

Her grandfather’s smile faded and a more serious expression took hold of his face.

“I am not going to lie to you, dear child. He might refuse, but I think I know a way how to overcome this impediment…there is a saying your grandfather was very fond of…Once a flower is plucked, it’s plucked…that’s it there is no turning back… or something like this…forgive my fading memory. I am growing older by every passing day.”

Wylla could only wrinkle her brows, her cheeks burning. She sensed what her grandfather had tried to convey with his grandfather’s gem of wisdom.

“I think I know what you are trying to say,” Wylla replied and averted her gaze. Her grandfather was the last person she wanted to discuss such matters with. “But I am not sure if Jon would be up to that…he is not the kind of person…,” she stuttered and blushed deeply.

Surprisingly, her grandfather started to laugh, his massive girth wobbling as he moved.

“I am an old man, dear child, but I was once a young boy myself. I am sure you can convince him. We will make it an emergency wedding…to save your honor. It is a bit unconventional, but as I said…I doubt Lord Stark will be able to refuse once the flower has been plucked.”

By now Wylla’s face felt as if she was pressing it against a brazier.

“I understand,” she replied with a knowing smile. “The flower needs to be plucked.”

Jolly laughter spilled from her grandfather’s lips.

“Aye, the flower needs to be plucked. Now hurry and I shall do the rest. Do not fret about your mother. There is nothing a pinch of milk of the poppy can’t solve.”

Wylla didn’t waste any time and went about her task. She washed herself properly, put on a fresh dress and the red sea-stone chain her mother had gifted her on her last nameday. At last, she sprinkled perfume on her hair and dress, before slipping out of her chambers.

She had spent all her life in White Harbour and knew every corner. It wasn’t hard for her to slip by the guards and as so often her sister had been kind enough to play the emissary.

A cold wind was blowing from the east as she made her way down to the shore and pass the fish market. A bunch of sailors whistled as she passed, though she doubted they would have been so brazen if they knew who she was. Still, Wylla had always enjoyed this kind of freedom, though she knew her grandfather hadn’t meant for her to slip out of the castle. He probably envisioned her to slip into Jon Snow’s bed.

And yet Wylla didn’t want to do it in such a common way. She wanted it to happen at her favorite place: beneath the curling black cliffs meandering its way along the coast of White Harbour where one could hear the cries of the sea gulls and the rolling waves of the sea.

Whether Jon would be up to this task was another question. He was willing enough in the past, but that were the games of children.

As always, Jon expected her near the cliffs overgrown with seaweed.

“You have changed your dress,” Jon remarked after she had lowered the hood of her cloak “And you are wearing a necklace…Did I miss something?”

Wylla’s answer came in the form of a quick kiss, her hands pulling on Jon’s shoulders.

Jon didn’t seem to mind, for he returned her kiss, his lips warm and hot at once.

When he broke away, he graced her with a seldom smile, his long pale face cast in moonlight. It was only now that she noticed how much his hair had grown over the last moons. Ever since, she had known him he had worn his pale hair shortly-cropped to his head.

“Is something wrong?” Jon asked and squeezed her shoulder. “Do I have something in my face?”

Wylla chuckled and touched his disheveled hair.

“It has grown so long…,” she remarked and bit her lips. “It suits you.”

Jon frowned and brushed his hair out of his face as if it was more of a burden than a gift.

“Do you think so?”

“Aye,” Wylla confirmed and took his hand, leading him towards the small cave near the beach, where she and her sister had often played when they were children.

As they stepped inside, Jon placed the lantern he had brought with him near the entrance of the cave and pulled off his cloak, before spreading the garment on the ground.

“I was just surprised that you called for me,” Jon remarked, his voice laced with anxiety. “I thought it would be better to wait…last time the Septa nearly caught us.”

Wylla couldn’t help but to chuckle when the memory came back to her. Jon had slipped into her chambers and had been forced to hide beneath her bed. The scene could have been taken from a song, though in such songs one’s sister was usually not present. It wasn’t like they had been doing something unseemly. On the contrary, they had been telling stories while her sister had repaired Jon’s cloak.

It was good that their days of hiding would soon be over. That is if Jon agreed.

“Fuck the Septa,” she replied rather crudely and dropped her cloak. She shivered and her lips felt suddenly very dry. “I am tired of hiding.”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open.

“I do not quite understand…,” he began, but Wylla cut him off.

“Oh, I think you do understand,” she replied firmly and pulled on the bindings of her dress. Wylla was no courtesan or seductress, but she had long learned that being direct was the best way to speak to Jon.

A moment later, her dress pooled on the ground, leaving her in her smallclothes. She shuddered again, but now from the cold, but because Jon’s dark eyes were staring back at her in wonder.

“We are not wed,” he countered.

“We can do that on the morrow,” she replied bluntly as ever and searched is face. “Besides, you are getting your knighthood. I see no reason why we shouldn’t get wed. My sister is the heir.”

Jon swallowed hard, his eyes lingering on her breasts.

“My Uncle might not approve…your mother,” he began, but didn’t back away when she moved closer and her hand touched his shoulder.

She helped him shrug off his tunic while he was hesitatingly unlacing his breeches. When he was done, he cast away his boots and fell silent.

Then, they stood there in tense silence, his pale skin aglow in the light of the lantern, turning his silver hair into spun gold.

Wylla could feel the familiar feeling of desire burning low in her belly as she leaned closer, her lips brushing over his. All previous hesitation fell away from him, as he opened his mouth to her. For a long time, they simply stood there, kissing and reacquainting each other with touch and taste after six moons of separation. The heat between them grew and suddenly Jon scooped her up in his arms, a giggle spilling from her lips.

“Do you not wish for a more pleasant place, my lady?” Jon asked and laid her down on the cloak, he had spread over the ground. “Something like a featherbed?”

She chuckled and brushed her hand over his cheek.

“I am a Manderly, my family’s banner shows a mermain. This is the best place for this.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Jon replied and lay down next to her, his body sliding over hers and his hand passing over her belly. As he reached between her thighs he kissed her softly, his mouth hot on her lips while his fingers worked on her, her body trembling from the pleasure. Her body tightened all too suddenly, tearing a gasp from her lips.

“Stop calling me, my lady,” Wylla complained, her breathing still labored.

“Wylla,” he repeated and frowned, though there was a smile curling on his lips. “It is so strange to call you that.”

Wylla couldn’t help but to smile and searched is gaze.

“How so? Is my name so ugly?”

He chuckled, holding her close and sliding between her legs. She felt him there and drew in a deep breath, then reached for him.

He stopped her and smiled down at her.

“No, but my nursemaid was also called Wylla.”

Wylla couldn’t help but to give him a playful slap for his silly answer. Jon Snow always had the uncanny ability to damper the mood.

“I will pretend that you never told me that,” Wylla replied and touched his shoulder. “I don’t want to be compared to a woman who suckled you as a babe. Now, come here. I have waited long enough for this day.”

Jon drew in a deep breath and moved above her. With a gentle shift he slipped inside her, though the promised pain still came, though it was less painful than she had imagined.

And yet she couldn’t help but to make painful gasp, her fingernails digging deep into the soft skin of his shoulder. Jon himself looked tense, his brows furrowed.

“It’s nod bad,” she assured him through gritted teeth and threw her arms around him, holding him close to her chest.

Jon drew in a deep breath, an expression of relief washing over his face, his movements slow and steady. After a while, his thrusts  began to grow more fevered, deeper, and then, with a quiet gasp, he sank down on her.

Once his breathing had calmed, he slid out of her, his gaze darting to the blood between her legs. He paled slightly, but Wylla couldn’t help but to laugh at his dumb-founded expression.

“What did you expect?” she asked jestingly and ruffled her hand through his hair. “Flowers and rainbows?”

“Something less bloody,” he replied in a serious tone, but the ghost of a smile was curling on his lips. “And you didn’t seem much pleased by my performance, were you?”

She chuckled. It was such a silly question. It wasn’t like she had much experience with this.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly and touched his cheek. “Well, I think we should try again…that is…once you are feeling up to it.”

His frown only deepened.

“Sure,” he told her and leaned down to kiss her. “You will see, my lady.”

Wylla giggled and returned his kiss, pulling him back into her embrace.

…


	10. Jon Arryn

**Jon Arryn**

Jon Arryn could only marvel at how much Moat Cailin had changed. Back then, he had been much younger and it had been the first and only time he had travelled to Winterfell. By every passing year, his memory was growing more blurred, but even so he recalled how this castle had once been a ruin of black basalt and bend towers.

Now it was a proper castle, with thick walls, two towers and a broad moat surrounding its grey walls.

It looked a bit like Winterfell, but was much smaller in size. It made him wonder if Lord Benjen had also built a godswood.  _A Northmen needs a godswood_ , Ned had told him once, though he had a hard time believing that a weirwood would grow in this swampy landscape.

Despite Moat Cailin’s impressive re-build, it was a rather deserted place. As they reached the drawbridge they were stopped by two guardsmen, both of them armed with spear and shield.

“Who goes there?” the elder one asked and watched Jon Arryn and his small party with a mistrustful look.

It was no surprise to him. Northmen were not particularly friendly towards southron lords and even less friendly towards strangers. That Jon Arryn had chosen to travel in a rather small party and a had donned clothing that wouldn’t reveal his identity, made it impossible for these men to recognize him.

“My name is Lord Jon Arryn,” he explained and dipped his head. “I know my visit comes as a surprise, but I and my party are asking for Lord Benjen’s hospitality. Please call him and I am sure he will be pleased to confirm my identity.”

The guardsman’s puzzled expression told him that he didn’t expect the Lord Paramount of the Vale to arrive at his door.

“No need,” the guardsman told him at last and stepped aside. “I shall call for my Lord.”

After they had crossed the drawbridge, they entered a large courtyard and received both curious and hostile looks.

The castle was not as crowded as he was used to, but it was clean and pleasant to look upon.

And while the smallfolk remained distant, their children proved curious enough. They stumbled after their horses, their laughter echoing in their ears.

Seeing healthy children like these made him think of his own boy. Sickly as he was born it was very likely that he wouldn’t see his next name day.

The “suspicions” Stannis Baratheon had voiced in regard to Robert’s heir were also weighing heavily on his mind…

“Are you from the south?” asked him one of the boys that had followed after their column of riders. He had a long face, brown hair and blue eyes. Yet it was the snarling black wolves that were stitched on his grey cloak that revealed his identity. This must be Benjen Stark’s heir and oldest child. Ned had mentioned him briefly in his sparse letters and Jon recalled that there was a second babe, born scarce a year ago.

“I am indeed from the south,” he confirmed to the boy. “And you are Dorren Stark, aren’t you, my boy?”

The boy gave him a stunned looked.

“You know my name?”

“Indeed,” Jon Arryn replied and couldn’t help but to chuckle. “And I have known your father since he was a young boy.”

“My father,” the boy repeated, his blue eyes growing wide. He was about to open his mouth, but the presence of another young man aroused Jon’s attention. The boy was several years older than Benjen Stark’s heir, but they shared a similar face; long and solemn, a Stark face. Yet his hair and eyes didn’t fit. His hair was pale silver and fastened with leather band while his eyes were dark like a stormy sky.

His clothing resembled the guardsmen’s armor, but around his shoulder he wore a white and turquoise cloak fastened with a silver wolf pin, indicating his Stark relation.

“Dorren, stop pestering the visitors,” the young man said with amusement and smiled. “Uncle Benjen will take care of them.”

“Jon, he says he knows father,” Dorren Stark pointed out without much care, his voice laced with amusement. “Do you know him?”

“Jon,” Jon Arryn repeated and finally realized who the other boy was. This was Ned’s boy, the one he had fathered during the rebellion, his namesake. “Jon Snow?”

The boy’s smile faded immediately and changed to a deep frown, his dark eyes searching his face.

“I am Ser Jon,” the boy corrected him with obvious displeasure. “And who are you, my Lord?”

Jon Arryn was taken back by the boy’s forwardness. Where he came from bastards acted with deference to others and would have never dared to address him in such prideful manner.

_He doesn’t know who you are_ , he recalled then and forced a smile over his lips _. That must be the reason._

“I am Lord Jon Arryn,” he introduced himself. “The Lord of the Vale.”

The boy paled a little, but his unblinking dark gaze didn’t falter as he took in Jon Arryn’s  small entourage.

“A pleasure,” he boy replied politely and dipped his head. “But why are you travelling in company of such a small party, my Lord? The roads to Winterfell are not safe. You should ask Uncle Benjen  to send word to Winterfell. I am sure Lord Eddard will be pleased to send a guard to accompany you all the way to Winterfell.”

Jon Arryn was taken back by the boy’s forward nature. When he had imagined Jon Snow he had expected a shy lad with Ned’s coloring, but this boy had inherited little of his father’s nature.

“Nephew,” another, familiar voice, caused him to angle his head. Jon recognized the man at once. Benjen Stark. “Would you get Dorren inside and inform Dacey that we have guests.”

Benjen Stark hadn’t changed much in appearance, though he looked tense and grim as his gaze had fallen upon Jon Snow or Ser Jon as the boy had corrected him.

The prideful boy nodded his head  in acknowledgement and dragged the younger boy along, towards he main keep. The other boys, who had watched them in silence, followed after them. Some looked like servant boys, but two or three were better dressed. They were probably squires or the children of retainers living in the castle.

“Forgive my delay, my Lord,” Benjen Stark greeted him and lowered his head. He smiled tensely as he regarded Jon Arryn, not at all like the jolly young man he had known, but then many years had passed since he had last seen Benjen Stark. “Your arrival was a pleasant surprise.”

“No need,” Jon Arryn assured him and waved his hand. “I have my reasons to travel like this. I hope you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” Benjen Stark replied, but didn’t sound like he really meant it. “But I had no time to prepare. You and your men will have to be content with a simple meal.”

“A simple meal suits me fine,” Jon assured him again. “The abundance of food in King’s Landing can be overwhelming at times.”

“I see,” Benjen Stark replied and forced a smile over his lips. “Well, broth it is then. Please, come along, my Lord.”

Jon Arryn was glad for it and followed after Benjen Stark. The travel had been long and strenuous and he was frozen to the bones.

It felt almost like relief when he entered the warm solar. It was a long room, furnished with tapestries and a hearth.

_Rustic_ , was the word he would use to describe the castle and its Lady.

Dacey Mormont was a tall woman, garbed in a green knee-length tunic, breeches and a bear pelt that was wound over her shoulder. Jon Arryn had never seen a lady like her.  Most in the south would call it unseemly for a lady to dress in such a manner, but it was hard to dislike the young woman when she greeted him with a disarming smile.

“I am Lady Dacey, my Lord,” she greeted and directed the two servant girls to served them bowls with warm broth and a pinch of honey. The ale, dark and bitter, followed soon after. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“A pretty girl,” Jon Arryn complimented. “I forgot…which house does she belong to?”

“Mormont,” Benjen Stark replied and sat down at the table. “Dacey is the current heir to House Mormont. Her Uncle Ser Jorah Mormont has disgraced himself and fled into exile after my brother wanted to take his head for the crime of slavery.”

“I heard about it,” Jon Arryn replied and took a sip from the cup. The ale was so bitter, it nearly made him choke, but he hadn’t expected anything less from the Northmen. Their life was as hard as their brew. “A sad tale, but that is no surprise. His marriage with Lady Hightower was far above his station. Women like her do not belong in the North.”

“That is so,” Benjen Stark agree and broke the bread. “But I am still surprised to  find you travelling North, my Lord. You are the Hand of the King. Isn’t it your absence an inconvenience to King Robert?”

It was and Robert had grumbled after he had announced his departure to the Vale, but Jon Arryn had felt that he had no other choice. He needed to speak with someone he could trust.

“I haven’t seen Ned in years,” he replied instead and shoved a spoon of broth into his mouth. The sweetness of the honey helped to regain his strength. “And I need to speak with him about a delicate matter. Sadly, I can’t tell you about it.”

Then, he filled his mouth with another spoon of broth, before washing it down with a gulp of bitter ale.

While he ate he made up his mind to change the topic and came back to Ned’s boy.

It was only natural that Ned had entrusted the boy to his brother, but that he was a knight was something Jon Arryn hadn’t expected.

“The young man I met earlier,” Jon Arryn remarked and dipped the bread in the bowl. “That is Ned’s boy, isn’t it? And he is a knight? How did that happen?”

Benjen Stark froze, his blue-grey eyes widening.

“Aye,” Benjen confirmed and put his cup of ale down. “Jon is Ned’s boy. He served as Lord Wylis Manderly’s squire and was recently knighted. He is also wed to his second daughter, Lady Wylla Manderly. She is here, but I thought you might care for privacy.”

“The boy is wed to Lord Manderly’s granddaughter?” he asked and couldn’t help but to hold back his surprise. House Manderly was one of the few houses who believed in the Seven. It was hard to believe that Lord Manderly would allow a bastard to wed his granddaughter.

“Ah, well,” Lord Benjen replied hesitatingly and dropped his spoon. “It was a whirlwind marriage, but Lord Manderly gave his approval. We also have to consider that Lord Manderly has no male heir. By wedding my nephew Lady Wylla can keep the name Manderly and act as a spare for her older sister.”

“But why is the boy here and not in White Harbour?”

“I offered him a place in my service,” Lord Benjen explained. “At least until he is of age and old enough to hold lands of his own.”

“And Lady Stark is fine with this? He is of a similar age as Ned’s oldest son, isn’t he? One would think the Night’s Watch would have been a more fitting place for the boy.”

“The Night’s Watch has need of good men,” Benjen Stark agreed. “I myself nearly joined, my Lord. Still, Lady Stark has no say in such matters. It is my brother’s decision alone and the boy is a stubborn one. He might rather run away than bend to Ned’s will.”

“I could see that,” Jon Arryn remarked. “He has a prideful character…so very unlike Ned. Who was his mother again?”

“Lady Ashara Dayne,” Benjen Stark replied and eyed the delicate carving on the wooden table. “At least that is what Ned told me. I think you should avoid speaking about this topic, my Lord.”

“Understandable,” Jon Arryn nodded his head in agreement. “But Ned is too hard on himself. He mustn’t feel shame for this one misstep.”  _It could be so much worse._   _Robert fathered a good dozen bastards_ , he wanted to add, but then he couldn’t badmouth his King in the presence of others.

Robert’s many bastards had always been a difficult topic between them.  What made it even worse was that all these bastards might be the only children born from Robert’s loins.

“And your sister,” Jon Arryn added hesitatingly. Lady Lyanna was name he avoided at court, for the Queen held an unnatural hatred for this unfortunate girl. “I heard she is still unmarried?”

“She lives here with us,” Benjen Stark explained and sighed deeply. “She enjoys doting on my children.”

“Forgive me for saying so,” Jon Arryn countered and took another hesitant gulp from his cup. “But your sister should be long wed. Ned indulges her too much.”

Jon Arryn didn’t know why, but in the matter of a heartbeat, Benjen Stark’s face had changed to a grim mask.

“I do not think this concerns you, my Lord,” Benjen Stark replied almost icily. “My sister is a willful person, but so are many Northern women, among them my wife. She is happy here with us and that is all that counts to me.”

“I see,” Jon Arryn granted him and forced a smile over his lips. “I shall be pleased to see Ned again.”

Benjen Stark gave him a sideway glance.

“Ned will be pleased,” he replied rather curtly. “How long do you intend to stay?”

“A week,” Jon Arryn explained. “I hope it is no bother for you?”

Benjen Stark didn’t seem pleased, despite the curt smile curling on his lips.

“No, of course not. Your presence is a great honor.”

…


End file.
